


For the Love of the Game

by RTSideStories



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult!Derek, Adult!Jordan, Adult!Stiles, Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Everyone is Human, Alternate Universe - High School, Background Ethan/Danny, Background Jackson/Lydia - Freeform, Coach!DerekHale, Kid!Greenburg, Kid!Jackson, M/M, Sheriff!StilesStilinksi, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Teacher!DerekHale, Teen!Danny, Teen!Ethan, kid!Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RTSideStories/pseuds/RTSideStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has been suckered by the School Board into coaching the after-school pee wee lacrosse team, alongside his regular teaching duties at the high school English Department.  While waiting on one of his players' parents to pick up their kid (who has been an hour late at this point), he meets Sheriff Stiles Stilinksi and gets entangled in his life of single parenting and the cut-throat world of pee wee lacrosse and helicopter parents.  He'll also come to realize how much he actually loves "his kids", and will forever be grateful for his shitty teaching contract.</p><p>Or:  </p><p>"I accidentally fell in love with my son's pee wee coach"</p><p>Or:  </p><p>The five times that Derek Hale was impressed at Stiles' parenting skills, and the one night that Stiles realized Derek was one hell of a parent himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Pee wee_ _lacrosse._  

Of all the things Derek pictured himself spending his free time away from teaching high school english, coaching pee wee lacrosse to the elementary school children was not one of them.  He'd never been good with kids, always making his sister's babies cry in terror when he came to visit in New York.  Yet here he was, barking orders to small children and praying he didn't scar them for life, or turn them into serial murderers.  He'd seen that episode of Criminal Minds and didn't want a re-enactment

Still, that's where he was.  Out in the lacrosse field the school had built next to the football stadium, in his old high school scarlet track suit that was a little too tight, with a bright matching hat that read "COACH" on the front.  He even had the shiny whistle, and felt like an extra in a sports flick, supporting himself on a lacrosse stick out of boredom.  

Sighing, he watched as the seven to eight year old children one-by-one came and were retrieved by their parents, still fighting with their sticks like they were re-enacting Star Wars.  

The sun was starting to set, and of the remaining, he was glad there was just three.  Not that he hated kids (even when they feared him), but there were at least three hours of television he wanted to watch that night.  His free time was now going to be a gaping suck-fest with three practices a week, and traveling to and from the hour or longer games on the weekends.

Of all the time-sinks, this one was going to be the worse.

Previously, he'd been the head of the French club (a one hour in-school activity during lunch per month), which always had about three or four rich kids in it for the trip to Paris in their senior year.  But naturally, the club had to be dispanded because of "budgeting restraints".  Which was schoolboardese for "we don't want the liability".

Then, he'd joined his good friend and school counselor Mr. Lahey as part of the school's after-school counseling program (a two hour program once a week).  Though all it took was three sessions of Isaac telling his life story of abuse from his father, and kids sharing their own sordid pasts ranging from beatings to downright assault, that Derek couldn't deal with it.  Isaac was a special man to put up with that and get kids into better places, but Derek had his own shit to deal with.

He almost decided to just forget about doing anything extra.  They all sucked and felt worthless.

Though with his teaching contract (which Mr. Gerard Argent was quick to remind him constantly), he was required to "mentor" kids in some way, shape, or form outside of his regular duties.  So this year's "help list" sent out by the school board was all he could do to keep within contract after ditching Isaac's little club.  It was either co-chaperoning the Spanish Club with Mr. Miguel, doing Honors Club with Mr. Harris, or filling the vacancy in the elementary after-school lacrosse coaching position.

Mr. Miguel, a fifty year old pervert with liver spots, had been hitting on him for years in the creepy way since he'd graduated Beacon Hills High School long ago, so that was a no-go.  Mr. Harris was the man that Satan came to with ethical dilemmas, and always hogged the good coffee mugs, so definitely no on that one.  He valued his immortal soul more than that.  

Looking down at his well toned body, he was glad that his years on the high school and college lacrosse teams and his current regimen at Planet Fitness hadn't been for nothing.  The only other applicant for the position was an overactive househusband that could be blown over by a leaf, or destroyed if the kids banded together against him.  As stereotypical as it was, Derek looked more "the part" of a coach.  He was even complete with the over-exaggerated body hair covering every inch of his skin, poking out of his track suit.

So he read up a few coaching books and tried to remember what his coach had done when he was that age.  Which, thank to Christ, was not all that complicated.  He just had to teach the kids the fundamentals and keep them from killing each other with sticks, and stress the importance of pads and helmets.

Derek smiled, picturing the events earlier that evening.

The first practice had been running a few laps around the field, throwing the ball back and forth to practice catching, and a few displays of how to safely stop another player or "checking".  He was surprised how the kids just naturally fell in line behind him when he ran with them, or how they were eager to play catch with him as he made a few volunteer as examples with himself, but wasn't all that surprised when they tried to check into him as hard as they could.  That last one was fun for the kids, and a very good excuse for Derek to go buy a better fitting jock immediately.

All in all, it wasn't that bad of a practice.  The kids were eager, antsy, and when the time came to actually play a "practice game" right at the end of the second hour(after explaining the rules), the kids went into a screaming mess, howling like little wolves all over the place trying to throw the ball into the goals.  

Unfortunately, of all the players, only a red haired girl by the name of Lydia and a blonde haired shy kid (who barely spoke two words) seemed to know what they were doing.  Though by the tone of Lydia's parents on the sidelines (who naturally stayed for the entire practice), they'd been coaching her for a while.    

The blonde kid was a natural though, lithe and able to duck back and forth between kids, while still being aggressive enough to shove them down if need be.  He was a good listener and always stayed at the head of the pack with Lydia, never complaining once when they did laps or the "boring stuff".

"BYE COACH DEREK!" a loud voice called.

Jumping out of his thoughts, Derek turned to Allison and Andy Argent, two brunette twins on the team that took great pleasure in fighting themselves, even when they were on the same team.  Their father, the gunshop owner in town, Chris Argent, waved to Derek as they piled into their family van.

"Coach!  Just this guy's left!" another male exclaimed.

Derek nodded to the tall teenage male crouched down next to the shy blonde kid.  The buzz-cut man adjusted his tank-top, while patting him on the shoulder.  "That's fine Ethan.  Thanks for your help, you go on home I know you've got homework.  I'll stay with him, thanks for helping me today," he answered.

The teenage wall of muscle nodded, shaking the kid's hand.  "See you at practice on Thursday Jackson!  You did good today," he said, also fist-bumping to the kid's bright amusement.

"Thanks Coach Ethan," Jackson said, baring a quiet smile.

Derek took Ethan's place in the middle of the lacrosse field, plopping down next to Jackson, seeing as there wasn't much else to do.  

The kid pulled his knees up to his chest, watching the road into the parking lot like a hawk.  Derek knew that longing look, he'd had it on his face for years before finally giving in.  

"I'm sure your mom or dad will be here soon.  They probably just lost track of time," Derek said, patting the kid on the shoulder.

Jackson's face dropped.  "They won't...  They're not getting me," he answered.

Derek watched blonde kid get teary eyed, sniffing as he put his lacrosse helmet on to hide his tears.  

"Hey...  Hey, yeah they will!  Don't worry about it," he said, reaching into his cell phone.  He'd programmed all the parent numbers into it.  Or at least, his assisting coach Ethan had.  "What's your mom and dad's name?  I'll call them for you and you can talk to them.  It's not a big deal," Derek said, trying to keep the kid from bawling.  

He failed miserably, as Jackson just shuddered and cried harder inside of his helmet.  

So caught up in wondering how he'd already fucked up as a coach and trying to console the child, he didn't notice the police car that zoomed into the parking lot of the lacrosse field, or the loud door slamming on the driver's side.

"Jackson!" a man yelled.

Derek jumped as Jackson gasped for air, tearing off his helmet and beaming from ear to ear.

"Jackson, I'm here!" the man yelled again, hopping the fence and not having to take the long way around the outdated field's layout.

Not one to be outdone, Jackson was up and running in an instant, tripping twice and falling flat on his face.  The guy must have been the kid's father to get that kind of reaction.  

Good.  Father or not, he was also an hour late picking his son up.  Derek was going to rip this guy a new one.  There was no fucking excuse, none.  No call, no text, no nothing?  What an ass.  At least the Argents had been nice enough to call and explain they'd gotten caught up at work.

While he would have normally put all those things into an angry rant, the guy running across the field was in a policeman's uniform and carrying a gun on his hip.  He had a solid layer of muscle, but still erred on the scrawny side.  His hair was buzzed into a short length, with only the thinnest layer of bangs hanging over his forehead.    Yeah, no, there would be no bad-mouthing a cop.  

Still, Derek stepped forward, mouth open and ready to sass when the officer grabbed Derek's hand and shook it tightly.  "Thank you so much for staying with him, I am so sorry!" he said, patting Derek on the shoulder before bending down to scoop up the child in his arms, hugging him as though it was the last time he'd ever get to see the child.

"Jackson, I am so sorry!  I am so sorry!  Grandma's chemo took longer than I thought, and I couldn't leave, and my phone was dead on by way back, I didn't have a charger, and I was trying to get here, I turned on the siren and everything to get here faster, I'm SO getting fired for that by the way, but I...  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry I didn't call, I didn't mean to scare you, I promise.  I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," the man exclaimed loudly.

Derek felt his heart drop through his chest and all the way down to his knees.  It was the single most heart-felt apology he'd ever witnessed.  The officer was...  He was actually crying.  Crying right alongside his son.

"It's okay...  It's okay Stiles," Jackson answered, hiccuping through the tears.  The boy had no problem letting Stiles pick him up and carry him over the shoulder.  He held onto his father like a sloth, never letting go.  

 _"Stiles?  What the hell is a Stiles?"_ Derek thought to himself, still completely enveloped in the scene before him.  

Thankfully, the teary eyes faded, and the officer took a deep breath.

"Hi...  I'm so sorry for all of this, my name is Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.  I work for the Beacon Hills Police department, interim Sheriff.  Nice to meet you, I'm sure you were expecting my father, John, to come pick him up, but he got tied up in physical therapy," Stiles answered.

Derek immediately felt like an idiot, his chest dropping into the Marianas Trench.  A guilt ridden idiot.  

The man before him was Stiles (he'd always known him as Genim the Geek) Stilinski, former deputy to the legacy that was the Beacon Hills Police Department.  Ever since Derek was a kid, there had always been a Stilinski leading that office.  In fact, it was Claudia Stilinski that had raided his sixteenth birthday party at his buddy Isaac's house.  Though instead of arresting anyone or shutting down the party, she merely took the booze away, called his mother Talia, and let "motherly justice" do its thing.  (Which, it did.)

They were good people, loved the town over, which made their current situation all the worse.  Claudia Stilinski had been diagnosed with breast cancer about a year or so back, while John Stilinski was fresh out of the hospital from a 99% blockage in his arteries and one hell of a heart attack.  Both were in recovery, both sick as dogs and unable to do much but sleep and do minimal housework.  The town had put together a fund to help them out, which he hoped was doing them some good.

He'd heard that Stiles, their son, had taken up the Sheriff's position until a real election could be held, while also moving back home to take care of them, taking a massive pay cut from his job in the Special Victim's Unit back in LA.  Though based on his performance and organization of the office, there were rumors flying around the city about the mayor just giving him the position for the rest of Claudia's term.  It wasn't like he didn't have the experience to be in that position, he'd been an officer in LA for years, and Beacon Hills had roughly a 99% less crime rate than the place he'd been working at.  He was apparently some sort of genius.

Though...  He had no idea that Stiles had a son.  The rumor around town was that Stiles batted for the other team, and had been in a serious relationship with a marine while away at college, and was getting intimate with Mr. Daheler's son.  Not that anyone thought bad of him for that, it's just the way small towns worked.  No privacy, whatsoever, and everyone just wanted everyone else to be married with 1.5 kids, gay or not.

Derek shook off his internal thoughts, shaking Stiles' hand again.  "Derek Hale...  I think I actually remember you.  You were...  A few years behind me in school, right?" he asked.

Stiles chuckled.  "Yeah.  I was a sophomore when you were a senior.  Hell week in lacrosse was awful, and you just kept pushing us forward.  Glad you're coaching Jackson here," he said, releasing the his handshake and wiping the tears out of Jackson's face.  "Listen, I really am appreciative of your help.  Please let me take you out to dinner as thanks, you basically babysat and I can't just not make it up to you the way I left things.  There's a diner nearby, I get a discount," he explained.

While he nearly argued the point, he recalled that his checking account was particularly bare after the drought in summer pay he'd gotten and spent far too quickly for his own good. Teacher salaries really did suck the big one.  Even coaching just paid an extra $250 a month atop his salary.  

Dinner that wasn't ramen would actually make the night somewhat salvageable.

"Sure.  Sounds great," Derek said, nodding gratefully as his stomach growled.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sal's Diner was, in every sense of the word, a cop shop.  Located right next door to the police department, Derek was sure just about every officer in town came in at least twice a week, it was constantly filled with police department vehicles.  Either for breakfast coming on shift, or dinner coming off shift.  When they weren't eating, they were swinging by for a snack, a take out coffee, or coming by to kick some people out that dared to cause a ruckus.

The tables were antiquated linoleum from the 60's, and the decor was laughable with the pictures of Beacon Hills from the early days in the 20's, and he was pretty sure his fork and spoon were from different eras.  

Though the food was amazing, and the diner could have been underground and he wouldn't have cared.  Derek had gotten the chicken fried chicken with a massive helping of gravy-drenched mashed potatoes, and had never felt more full in his life.  The coffee he ordered for after dinner barely had anywhere to go, but had to be drank.  He still had English papers to grade, and Mahalani's was on top of the pile.

Derek shuddered, praying that his "problem" student's analysis of Great Expectations would be better than the rubbish he'd written about Jane Eyre.  

Their waitress poured Stiles a refill and topped off Derek's.

"I want some!" Jackson whined, pointing to Stiles' cup of coffee.  The waitress giggled, turning to Stiles for approval.

Stiles rolled his eyes, waving the waitress away.  "Yeah, no.  Last time we did that, you were up half the night and knocked over three potted plants.  You know the rules, none of my coffee unless it's the weekend," he said, tweaking Jackson's nose.  "But if you'd like some pie, I bet Miss Malia would get you some pie," he offered quietly.

Pouting, Jackson nodded reluctantly.  

"Boss man!  Spoiling my little Jackie with more pie?" a warm voice exclaimed.  Standing behind Stiles and Jackson's booth, a man around Stiles' age with soft brown hair was ruffling Jackson's hair.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Parrish, if you rat me out to my dad about Jackson's sugar intake, I'm putting you on patrol at Makeout Point for a month.  You can pry the kids off each other with the spatula instead of me," he answered playfully.

Jackson snickered, pointing excitedly at Derek.  "Jordan, this is Derek, my coach!  I told you I'd play on the lacrosse team!" he said.

"You made the cut?  Impressive, they don't let just anyone on the pee wee teams" Parrish teased, turning in surprise to face Derek.  "Hey Derek, long time no see!  How's you and Isaac doing?  Still going steady?" he asked.

Derek rolled his eyes.  He had dated Isaac Lahey for a few years in college until they both realized they were better off as friends.  While there was the emotional connection, neither male was all that sexually attracted to each other.  Still, Isaac was his best friend and long time companion.  There wasn't anyone else in the world he trusted more.  He also kept his couch open for Derek, loving to psychoanalyze his friend during Isaac's lunch hour.

"We broke up years ago Jordan. It really has been a long time, as-... I mean you butt," Derek said, shaking Jordan's hand and censoring his mouth around the little one.  He'd have to really work on that, he nearly devastated the team's ears with "fuckingfuckshitfuck" after Vernon Boyd whapped him in the crotch with his lacrosse stick.

"Sorry, kind of busy, we should catch up some time, but Coach Hale, eh?  Excellent!  Good to see someone nice and strong coaching the kids.  Mr. Finstock never had the right stuff to push 'em," Officer Parrish said, slapping Jackson on the back.  "Hey buddy, you've got the best lacrosse player in Beacon Hills history coaching you.  He was his high school captain and ran us like crazy.  I was one of his checking victims in practice constantly, but had a lot of fun," Parrish said, smiling.

"Cool!" Jackson said, turning back to Derek.  "Did you know my Dad?  He was team captain too, and was Stiles' best friend!  Did you play with my dad?" he yelled excitedly.

Stiles and Parrish exchanged nervous glares, while Parrish made a clear signal across his throat to not answer that question while Jackson was looking.  Stiles was far less subtle, kicking Derek under the table, to which Derek flinched painfully at.

"Jackson?  Did you want some pie?  Maybe Jordan will get Miss Malia to put extra whipped cream on it," Stiles said, smiling as he caught the child's attention.

"YEAH!" Jackson exclaimed, standing up in the booth while Jordan scooped him up and put him on his shoulders.  

Derek watched Jackson get high fived by just about every cop in the joint, Stiles chuckling as Jordan pretended to drop him, only to get caught by another officer that had been falling behind him.

"So...  You're not Jackson's father?" Derek asked curiously.

Stiles shook his head.

"Jackson...  Jackson's actually not my biological son.  I'm still waiting for the paperwork to go through on the adoption to make him my official son.  In the meantime, I'm his legal guardian," Stiles explained.

Derek looked up from his coffee, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Stiles didn't break eye contact as Jackson got tickled in the tummy by Miss Malia, the best chef and owner of Sal's diner.  

"My best friend Scott had a girlfriend named Kira, and they had a son together pretty much in the middle of college.  That was Jackson, and they named me his godfather.  They got married when they graduated college and they all became a family.  Kira was a cop here in Beacon HIlls, and Scott bought the veterinary practice from Alan Deaton.  McCalls.  I'm sure you know the name," Stiles explained quietly.

Derek cringed.  He did.  Not a single person in Beacon Hills didn't know the McCalls.  Rafe McCall had been an abusive asshole that Claudia Stilinksi shot in the ass during a house raid, while the man tried to murder his wife, Melissa McCall.  At least, that was the official story.  The whole town knew that Melissa had actually done the shooting, after Rafe slapped their son across the face.  That son was Scott McCall, the local vet.  

At least...  He used to be.

"They both died on their wedding anniversary about a year ago.  On their way to Mexico to visit Scott's family, they got...  They got mistaken for a rival gang because of the color of their car.  Some flunkies at the bottom of the barrell blew them away, hoping to get higher up in their stupid business.  Point blank shotgun blasts to their heads.  Dead instantly, thank God they didn't suffer.  According to the police reports, they didn't know it was coming either.  Again, thank God," Stiles said, gripping his own mug of coffee tightly.

Nodding, Derek had heard they'd been shot in Mexico.  He'd actually gone to the visitation, Scott had been the man to put down his aging cat, and Derek always respected the man's kindness to animals.  Derek never really put the connection to Jackson together, the boy didn't look like either his father or his mother.  He must have had gotten his looks from Rafe's side of the family.

"I was babysitting Jackson when it happened.  I'd come home for a week from LA just to see him, he's like my nephew.  But...  They never came home.  I took a leave of absence from work, trying to track them down, and I even called in FBI favors, but...  Mexican authorities and US authorities don't speak well with each other.  They'd been dead for a week by the time we got the news.  Jackson just...  Just stood by the front door for all seven days, waiting for his daddy to come home and hug him so they could go outside and play.  They'd been practicing lacrosse together, Jackson wanted to be a captain, just like his father.  He was so excited to start peewee lacrosse, Scott bought him just about everything under the sun he needed," Stiles explained.

A chill went down Derek's spine.  He pictured his own alcoholic father, absent his entire life, and how glad he'd been when the man finally drank himself into an early grave.  But to lose a father that loving?  It had to be hard on Jackson.  It was hard enough on Derek, and he hated his father.

"But Jackson...  Jackson and I didn't have a way of knowing that.  It was two weeks after they were supposed to be back when we...  Got the news," Stiles said, staring into his black coffee.  "A long time ago, I signed the paperwork in Kira's will to make me Jackson's legal guardian if anything ever happened to them.  It made sense.  Jackson always spent a few weeks with me in the summer, so we did have a bond, but I was just the crazy Uncle that let him eat junk food and watch movies all night.  So just like that, I became a single parent," he explained.

"Thanks for sharing, but...  Why are you telling me this?  You're not... You don't have to explain...  That's not what I meant when I asked if you were Jackson's father," Derek asked.  He wasn't trying to be rude, but this was the kind of thing that parents didn't usually share with coaches they'd just met. 

Stiles took a deep breath and sighed.  "I wanted to tell you for a couple of reasons.  Number one being that kids are mean little bastards and their parents are even worse sometimes.  Scott and Kira's deaths were all over the news.  I can just picture Jackson getting called out on it by an angry parent or a little shitface, and I didn't want you to get blindsided.  The wound is still fresh, and  he...  He sometimes pretends like they're still on vacation, and will just wait and wait and wait by the front door, and I...  I know he's doing lacrosse because he wants to fill his father's footsteps or maybe just feel like he did when he was playing with Scott.  I don't know what's going to happen to him, but his therapist said that some after school activity would be good for him, to get him out of his head," he explained, shaking his head.

"Second reason is to give you some advice.  If he cries, or gets upset while playing...  It's not that he's a sensitive flower that needs screaming at.  Just let him run a lap or something to calm down, Jackson likes running," Stiles answered.  

Derek felt a lump in his stomach.  His chicken fried chicken was revisiting him.  

_**"What's your mom and dad's names?  I'll call them for you."** _

"It's also a long winded explanation that Jackson is a cop's kid, and Kira McCall was one of the best in the department.  The whole station would die for this kid, so if you or the team ever need anything, you let us know, okay?  And why do you look constipated?" Stiles asked, glancing at Derek's paling face.

"I already fucked it up.  I..  I asked him what his mom and dad's names were.  I said I'd call them.  He looked upset waiting for you, so I...  I thought I was helping," Derek said, rubbing the bridge of his nose to avoid direct eye contact.

Stiles sighed deeply.  "You didn't know.  It's okay, he seems happy enough now.  He loves eating here, and Malia loves giving me a discount, so it's a win-win," he answered, smiling.  "So uh..  New topic!  I'm new to this whole parenting thing, so...  I'll try not to go psycho on you if Jackson doesn't play, but I'm pretty attached to my son, so you might just get arrested and put in jail overnight" he answered.

Nearly spitting out his coffee, Derek choked on laugher.  "You don't have to worry about that...  Besides Miss Martin, Jackson's the only one who's any good.  Hearing that story, I'm guessing it must have been Scott that taught him the fundamentals.  He's good.  Definitely going to play him in the first game," he explained.  

Stiles eyed Derek nervously.

"And no, that's not pity, that was my opinion at practice before I knew any of this.  He checks the other players right, doesn't sword fight with the sticks, has good control of the ball, and can catch passes.  Most importantly, he listens to me.  The other kids are like untamed wolves wanting to just play around.  Jackson isn't like that," Derek explained.

"Good...  Good," Stiles said, sighing in relief.  He chuckled.  "Yeah, that sounds like him.  Scott was pretty strict on him to always listen to his elders, since Jackson used to be a little bratty.  He and Kira weren't having any of that, and fixed him up after a long camping trip in the woods.  Taught him respect and how to be a good man...  God I miss them, I don't know any of this shit, I'm an adderall addicted hyperactive monkey," he said, collapsing his head in his hands and laughing to himself.

Jordan and Jackson both returned with four slices of pie, topped with copious amounts of whipped cream, pushing Stiles to the end of the booth, breaking him out of his little pity funk.

"Dessert delivery!" Jordan and Jackson said in unison, as Jackson slid a strawberry pie in front of Derek.

"Miss Malia says you can have it for free!  I told her you were my coach!" Jackson said, beaming excitedly.

Derek felt mildly better, taking the platter of refined sugar and deciding to forgo his usual distaste for sweets.

"Thank you Jackson, I appreciate it," Derek said, with a kind smile.  He then watched Jackson politely unfold a napkin, just like Stiles was doing, stuffing it in his shirt to avoid stains.  It was like watching two people doing the same action on opposite ends of a mirror.  

"Any homework tonight Jackson?" Stiles asked.

Jackson shook his head.  "Nope.  Can I play your old Nintendo?" he asked.

"After you take your shower and get ready for bed.  Mario Kart with me?  Peach Versus Toad, I'm Peach?" Stiles counted.

"Okay Stiles, but I'm gonna win cuz Toad cheats," Jackson answered immediately, grinning excitedly.

Derek smirked, watching both father and son devour the whipped cream first, getting it on their noses obviously.   _"I think you're doing just fine Sheriff Stilinksi." he thought to himself._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

After three weeks of practice, Derek was proud to say that his team was ready for their first scrimmage game.  The real "season" against the nearby town teams (if one could call it that) would start the following week and run its usual course of weekend after weekend of screaming kids.

So Derek's "Beacon Wolves" were up against the "Mole Hills", one of the three pee wee teams in Beacon Hills.  Whoever named these kids teams deserved to be shot in the face.  The puns were a crime against literature and needed to be punished for it.  Though that would come later, he had a game to coach.

Again, Derek was surprised about being a coach.  He figured the kids would throw around the ball for about an hour, maybe get lucky to score a goal or two, and all the parents would be happy that they had a two hour session to spend outside.

Instead, he was met with cut-throat helicopter parents that put the obsessive parental nutjobs he dealt with in the AP Classes at parent-teacher nights to shame.  He swore the Mole Hills coach was crying at one point, being berated by a pair of angry parents over their son's play time.

Parents were swearing in the stands over "bad calls" across the field, and Derek had heard more than one scream directed at the official for being a word that he would never repeat in front of his kids.  Even his high school kids didn't swear that much, and they were hormonal terrors. 

He'd been thankful up until halftime, with the Beacon Wolves parents being more or less "tame".  Sure, they cheered a little louder than was probably necessary for a seven year old pushing another seven year old down on the ground, but better than The Hunger Games crowd screaming for blood at death, at least.  

Though by the third period of play, an annoying voice in the background of his hearing kept yelling at the field.

 ** _"Get the little girl off the field!  She needs to be picking daisies, not holding a stick!  What is this bullshit?!"_** a gruff voice screeched.

Derek felt his forehead twitch.  Considering that Allison was on the bench after wearing herself out on a long play, that left only the other girl on the team.  The man's words pissed him off to no end, Lydia was kicking ass on the field, better than just about any other player on the team.  She was passionate, with a cut-throat attitude that overwhelmed even the most testosterone-addled boy on the team.

Jackson and Lydia worked well together, and could catch each other's passes if nobody was in their way, and if they were really ready.  Of the ten points they'd scored in the game (just barely ahead of the eight points Mole Hills had scored), eight of them had been Jackson and Lydia.  The Argent twins had scored the other two points, but made better plays on defense than offense.  Probably because Andy and Allison Argent were always out for blood.

 _ **"Come on coach!  What is this shit?  She lost the ball again!"** _ the same man screeched.

Derek turned to Ethan, who'd been diligently keeping statistics the whole game, while also pumping up the more "docile" members of the team.  His teenage assistant was plotting on giving out certificates after each game for the "best of the best", and was taking his job on stats seriously.

"How many times has Lydia dropped the ball without scooping it back up almost immediately?" Derek asked, leaning over to whisper quietly in Ethan's ear.

"Twice all game, and only when half of the Mole Hills were on top of her," Ethan answered immediately.

Derek sighed.  "I hate parents.  They ruin the game," he said, rubbing his forehead.  

"Yeah, they do," Ethan responded.

The bickering in the back went on for the rest of the third period, until the official whistled for a short break.  The five or six benched kids joined the kids out on the field, scrambling over to Derek.  They were a mixture of tired, excited, annoyed, and in Jackson and Lydia's case, pissed off.  

"We're losing!" Jackson said angrily, looking at the small score post at the end of the field.  A few missed checks had gotten the Mole Hills a few extra points, putting them slightly ahead.

Lydia was right along with him.  "This stinks!  We were winning before!" she said, pouting as she rammed her stick into the ground.

Derek folded his arms.  "Bad attitude to have Jackson and Lydia.  We're not losing, we're just failing to succeed," he said, in what he thought was a clever distraction.

"What's that mean?" Allison said, joined in a chorus of confused kids.

Sighing, Derek watched Ethan snicker to his side.  "Teaching seven year olds... Got to remember that," he mumbled under his breath.  Quickly, he bent down to the children's level.  "Hey.  Just keep doing your best, you're all kicking booty and I'm proud of you.  So keep it up, okay?" he said, trying to paint on a smile.  

That worked a little better, with some relieved smiles on everyone's faces.

"Go get some water and rest on the bench.  Team 1 is going out, okay?" Derek said, putting his fist into the middle of the circle of kids.  They all put their fists in as well, and Derek mentally groans.  "Go team!" they all yell, bumping fists and pulling them back to make a weird loopy noise while doing jazz hands.  Apparently there was a disney movie with a bulbous white blob thing that they all were going insane over.  Jackson had been the one to suggest it for the team "salute", and they'd all gone batshit crazy begging him to make it official.

Who could say no to twenty-something sets of puppy eyes?

So after degrading himself to a perky display of coaching affection, Derek stood back up while Ethan handed out the tiny bottles of water to all the kids.  He himself grabbed one, wiping the hot remnants of August off his forehead before chugging the bottle.  The track suit was going to have to go at some point, and he needed something more weather appropriate.

"Excuse me...  Coach Hale?" a woman asked.

Turning around, to face the stands, Derek saw the the young motherly face of Mrs. Martin, wearing what he figured was one of the shirts that Chris Argent had bought for all the parents.  "Lydia's Mom" was spaced out over her chest, with a little wolf on the right sleeve, howling up at the moon.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her figure was definitely athletic.

"Yes Mrs. Martin?  Is something wrong?" Derek asked, seeing the tell-tale signs of worry spread out across her face.

She folded her arms uncomfortably.  "I'm not trying to be one of _**those**_ parents, but...  One of the other parents has been a little too "vocal" about my daughter playing.  I don't care if my husband and I hear it, but I don't want Lydia to.  There isn't a girl's lacrosse team anywhere near here, and she loves playing, so I don't want her to get discouraged.  Could you do something about it, please?" Mrs. Martin begged.

Derek mentally screamed, having a deep hatred of any type of confrontation.  Usually, when he confronted someone, his track record in high school and college involved shoving people against walls.  He was a respectable teacher now, things like that were generally frowned upon.  People got arrested for that.

The words "I don't want to get involved" were on the tip of his tongue, he stopped himself as he saw Sheriff Stilinksi guiding an elderly male towards the bleachers.

_"He did say anything..."_

"STILES!" Derek barked, whistling in the general direction of the parents.  

The Sheriff, after helping the old man to the iron bleachers, jogged immediately over to Derek, in his uniform per usual.  Which, given the circumstances, was probably a good thing.  

Joining Mrs. Martin and Derek, Stiles waved to Jackson before beaming brightly at them.  "Sorry I'm late, the old man was stubborn and made me bring him, but he just doesn't have that much get up and go right now.  What's up?" he asked.  

Derek signaled to the bleachers behind him.  "There's a man being a little...  "Loud" about Lydia playing.  Can you ask him to cool it?" he asked politely.

Surprisingly, Derek watched Stiles' face turn into a completely different demeanor.  Strict, stoic, and official.  Like he was a different person.

"I'm so sorry about that Natalie.  Who?" Stiles asked, glaring behind them and into the stands.  

"Stiles, sweetie, don't cause a big fuss.  It's just Robert, you know how he gets since Shelia...  Really, we don't mind, I just...  I don't want Lydia to hear.  You know?" Mrs. Martin asked.

Stiles nodded.  "I know...  I'll speak with him, just a moment," he said, patting Natalie on the shoulder as they both walked off to the stands.  

Thinking that was that, Derek turned back to his kids.  He listened to a few complaints, some strange "plans" from Lydia on how to scare the other team, and had to ship Ethan off with Boyd to take him to the bathroom.  Suddenly, he was very upset that there was ten minute breaks between each period.  Kids got very antsy in between periods, with ridiculously short attention spans.

Towards the end of the break, he felt a firm hand tap him on the shoulder.  

"Derek, it's me," Stiles said, as they both turned to face each other.  Stiles waved again to Jackson, and the Sheriff was his usually chipper self.  "Thanks for telling me that.  Natalie and I were close friends in high school, and Lydia's like my little niece," he said politely.

"Is this "Robert" going to cool it?" Derek asked, more interested in that than anything else.

"That's Greenburg's father, FYI.  You know, glasses kid over there you've had on the bench all game?  Well, he's a sexist pig and a half, but he's just mad about his kid not playing.  I told him to cool it.  He did ask me to see if you'd give his son some play time," Stiles said, in a way that was both silently judgemental of Derek's coaching style, but also supportive of his plight.  

Derek sighed, rubbing the oncoming headache that was coming.  

Greenburg hated lacrosse, Derek could tell that from day one.  Lack of hand-eye coordination made it hard to catch a ball with a tiny stick and an even tinier net.  He liked being around his friends, sure, but lacrosse was not for him.  When he was actually in the game, the kid froze and stood like a limp fish, and got yelled at by his dad anyway.  It was a lose-lose for the poor guy.

"Greenburg!" Derek said, getting the child's attention immediately.  He backed away from his circle of friends and jogged over to join his coach.  

"Yes sir?" Greenburg asked politely.

"Do you want to play?  I know you told me you didn't want to play in the games, but...  Are you sure?  The game's almost over and there's still time," Derek asked, shooting Stiles a very obvious "i'm not that much of an asshole coach that I wouldn't play all the kids if they wanted to" glare.

Stiles immediately returned that question with an over exaggerated gulp alongside a set of very "foot in mouth" eyes.

"No..." Greenburg answered, lowering his head.

"What?  Why not?" Stiles said, bending down to the child's level and surprising Derek with the polite tone of voice.  It was equal parts "soft", denoting that he was speaking to a child, but lacked the usual condescending other half that other parents or teachers had.  Derek hated that kind of voice, and talked to his seven year olds the same way he did his fourteen to eighteen year olds.  Made things simpler, more honest.  Stiles though?  It was genuine concern.

"I don't want to play, Sheriff," Greenburg said, pouting.  "I screw up a lot...  What if I dropped the ball?  That would be the worst thing EVER," he said, in what Derek appreciated as over exaggerated hyperbole.  He smirked, and needed to remember that example for his tenth grade class.

Stiles seemed to hum for a second or two, finally breaking out a very "serious" face.  "Well I don't know about that.  I think a giant T-Rex stampeding through town and throwing up ice cream all over Coach Hale would be just about the worst thing ever.  'Cuz then me and the officers would have to clean all that up, and it would be a sticky disaster!  I'd have to call the Governor and everything, get the National Gaurd, and that's just so much paperwork to deal with..." he said, in a deep "seriousness" that made him sound like he was giving a real police report.

Derek tried not to laugh.  Stiles had a very active imagination.

Greenburg snorted loudly, laughing as he looked up at Coach Hale, obviously picturing the scenario for himself.  "That wouldn't happen!" he added quickly.

"Oh really?" Stiles said, turning up to look at Derek.  "Coach Hale, do you think the worst day ever would be Greenburg dropping the ball or screwing up?  Because I don't think so.  I think you getting ice cream puke would be the worst day ever, what do you think?" he asked, winking at Derek.

Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes, fighting back a smile.  "I think the worst day would be me covered in ice cream.  Sorry Greenburg, but he's right.  I don't even like ice cream.  It's bad for you and then I'd get pudgy," he said, trying to keep his "tough guy" image going.  

"See? **_I win!_** " Stiles said, beaming as he patted Greenburg on the shoulder.  "What do you say Coach?  Can Greenburg play a while?  I think he'd have fun if he tried!  And even if he screwed up, I bet it would still be better than dinosaur ice cream puke," he asked.

While emotionally touching, and while Greenburg did look mildly more confident, Derek still turned to the child for a definitive answer.  "Does he want to play?  Because I think he does a good job blocking," he said, smiling.  It wasn't a total lie, Greenburg did a good job when a ball was not involved.  If he were in older aged leagues, he'd be slamming into other kids without a problem.  

Still half-pouting and nervous, Greenburg finally nodded.

"Okay then...  Go tell Andy Argent to sit out for a bit.  You can take his place for now.  Follow his sister Allison and keep the kids away from whoever's got the ball," Derek answered.

Sheepishly, Greenburg nodded and tripped over his shoes to get back to his friends.  He looked excited telling Andy, and Jackson was already discussing plays between them all.  Though Lydia was quick to tweak Jackson's nose and offer a better plan instead.

They all looked...  Happy.  A happy he almost fucked up.

"Thanks," Derek said, shaking his head.  "Sorry, I...  He just said he didn't want to play, so I figured he was telling the truth.  I'm an ass...  Err, butt."

"You can swear when the kids aren't around Coach," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.  

Sighing, Derek rubbed his oncoming migraine.  Of course he was a screw up.  

"Can I give you some advice?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged.  "Sure, what?" he replied, watching the Sheriff closely.

Stiles took a deep breath and turned his back away from the children.

"Lesson number one about small kids, at least in my experience, is that this generation of youth is different than any other in history.  They are all very different, but generally are shy little buggers that are scared to death around other people that aren't their immediate family.  That changes when they get the Internet, but these kids are all probably still unaware of it.  So right now, they're still social, but it's ingrained in us by our parents to be fearful of strangers, which kids usually take to me "out of family".  So they minimize contact even with those that might be friendly or otherwise "safe".  They don't feel like they can share their feelings or knowledge with these "safe" people.  People like you," he explained.

"Me?" Derek asked.

Stiles nodded.  "You're their coach, so you're a figure of authority in their lives.  For all intents and purposes, you've been vetted by their parents, but they're still not that close to you yet.  You need to meet them halfway, and try and bridge the "shy" gaps so that you're not a stranger and that they'll come to trust you," he explained.

Derek thought about it for a moment.  Honestly, Stiles was right.  Other than giving orders or direction, he didn't actually "know" the kids at all, besides Jackson and Lydia.  Jackson from his time at the diner, and Lydia because her parents were very involved in her life and he'd had dinner with them one night after practice.

Everyone else?  He had a hard time remembering their names, only able to really describe or identify them by hair color, or a particular trait (like the Argents being twins).  Which...  He admitted, was really shitty of him.

They probably just listened to him because he looked, as his sister put it, "menacing".  

"Especially Greenburg there, all he's ever had growing up was his father.  His mom left him and his dad when he was five.  Like most kids out of a divorce, he probably blames himself.  Which equates to little to no self-confidence, and an outlandish fear of his father leaving him as well.  Hence performance anxiety," Stiles said, folding his arms as the kids starting going to their positions on the field, led by Ethan.

Derek rose an eyebrow.  "How do you...  How do you know all of this?" he asked.

Stiles smiled meekly.  "Greenburg?  Well, the police station if gossip central, no matter how hard I try to kill it with fire.  The other stuff?  Well, I'm an Ex-SVU detective here.  I've kind of seen the darkest depths of depravity this world pukes up, and the kids are the worst to deal with.  People underestimate how smart kids are, and how much they pick up from their parents or authority figures.  When I say that you're a very important person in their lives right now?  That they're looking up to you and everything you do and say?  I mean it.  Because at some point you're not going to just be the stranger they see three times a week.  You're going to be their Coach, their friend, and...  Someone that they see as a part of their extended family," he explained.

"Seriously?" Derek asked, turning to the kids that he figured was just his cause of a time suck.  

Stiles nodded.  "Oh yeah.  Jackson talks about practice all the time and how cool "Coach Hale" is.  He says you're tougher than his dad was in practice, but a lot nicer when he screws up, and that is saying something.  You're giving him a distraction that he needs right now, and doing it damn well," he said proudly.

Derek had a lot to say to that, but the words just got caught up in the pit of his stomach.

The official started blowing the whistle loudly, jostling Stiles and Derek out of their conversation.

To which Stiles immediately chuckled.  "Sorry, didn't mean to be a waxing poetic here.  You're doing a good job, I just think you can do better.  They're not glass, you're not going to break the children if you're a little tough.  Good luck Coach!" he said, patting Derek on the shoulder as he jogged off the field and re-joined the parents in the bleachers.  Where Derek noticed he sat VERY close to Greenburg Senior and was already chatting him up.

Once he turned back to the field, Derek tried very hard to focus on the game.  Tried to think of what Stiles said.  

How on earth was he going to be all of that?  He was just trying to keep within contract, not be a father figure to these kids.  There was no way he'd ever be successful in that.  He had no idea how to be a father, he'd never had one to begin with.

+++++++++++++++

The last period of play was...  Interesting.

Greenburg screwed up, dropping the ball half a dozen times and getting the other team two points.  Though once Lydia gave him orders on what to do (being the commanding captain in waiting she was), Greenburg became a human shield for her and Jackson to pass more easily.  

Once they were in a good rhythm, Derek's team scored several times in a row, tying up the game.  

Shockingly enough, he did try to memorize the kids more than numbers and hair color.  At the very least, he wasn't going to pull another Greenburg.  He wanted to get to know these kids better.

While it would take a while, there were some front runners he knew he'd get to know better quickly.  These kids weren't shy in the least.

The Argent twins were hyperactive and worked well together, but would bicker and fight if they played too much together.  They'd both been pulled off the field by Ethan when they about came to blows after Andy yanked at Allison's ponytail.

Vernon Boyd was quiet, calm, and didn't get all that aggressive.  That is, unless Aaron Reyes' eight year old older sister Erica was cheering for him on the sideline, and then he was like a bull plowing through kids.  He'd gotten three fouls already that day alone and one away from being ejected.  Still, the kids on the other team stayed far away when he was out on the field.  While that was nice, Derek was going to have to work on that aggression being put to use elsewhere.

Lydia Martin was...  Well, she was commanding and sure of herself, but the other kids respected her and listened to her.  He'd never met a more confident child in his life, and had no doubt that she'd go far.  Then again, given the way her parents were at every practice and always cheering her on, he wasn't surprised.  It must have been nice to have such strong support.

Then of course...  There was Jackson McCall.  

Jackson was Jackson, an all around good player.  His father really had taught him well, the kid's fundamentals were leagues above everyone, and on par with Lydia's.  He rarely made mistakes.  

At least, up until the very last minute of play.  Derek watched Greenburg get pushed down HARD to the ground by an angry kid, who was mouthing off after the play was over and probably insulting Derek's player.  Of course, the official didn't see it, and of course, they only started paying attention when Jackson intervened and pushed the other kid right back on his rear end.  All of this happening before Derek could get out to the field and stop any of it, but within perfect view of each parent behind him.

"Foul!  Thirteen," the official said, grabbing Jackson by the arm and yanking him off the field.  Ethan ran out to get him while the crowd behind him started yelling loudly.  He could hear Jordan Parrish at the forefront of all of them.

Derek growled under his breath, knowing that the other team's kid should have been penalized too, but there wasn't anything he would be able to do.  Making a fuss would just have been worse, so Derek glared at the other team's coach across the field.  While the poor guy had been berated the whole game, Derek wasn't going to put up with that shit.

"Watch your kids Coach!  Just because they didn't see it doesn't mean I missed it!" Derek yelled as calmly as he could.  Really, it was more like a loud whisper, as he held in what he really wanted to say.  He wouldn't be one of those rage-roid coaches, but he wasn't going to be a pushover either.

The other team's coach immediately pulled the offending kid, while laughing nervously in Derek's direction, likely fearing bodily violence.  Unfortunately, the referee shot Derek a "cut the shit" look, and Derek just shrugged as Ethan brought Jackson back to the bench to calm down.

Ethan moved over to Derek's side, huffing.  "The other kid called Greenburg a nerdy fat loser.  Jackson didn't like that, or the fact that he did a late hit that was against the rules.  So... Yeah, he made sure the other kid didn't do it again," he said, clearing his throat as Andy Argent went in to take Jackson's place.

"I see," Derek said quietly.  

Ethan cleared his throat.  "He said nobody hurts his friends," he explained.

Derek grinned, high fiving his assistant coach to the side when he was absolutely sure nobody was looking.  

"Aggressive little shit, isn't he?" Ethan asked.

"I get the feeling he gets it from his father, both of them.  I seriously hope that translates when he moves up to the bigger leagues, and he'll be a killer," Derek said, smirking as Jackson ran up from the bench to apologize for getting the foul, the child's face half scared to death for goofing up.  

"Sorry Coach..." Jackson said, his head down shamefully.

Derek rose an eyebrow, attempting to look "menacing", but a milder kind of it.  "Just be careful next time.  It's okay to hit them, but you've got to do it right, or someone will get hurt.  Okay?" he asked.  He wanted to be proud of Jackson for sticking up for his friend, but then again, he also couldn't let the kid think that doing it was okay.  Because violence was "never the answer".  He was considering if he should be the pot or the kettle in this conversation.

Jackson nodded, still obviously disappointed in himself.  

"Hey...  Jackson?" Derek said, stalling the child just before he ran back out to the field.  "You're doing good.  Stiles is up in the stands.  He got to see you make that goal with Greenburg a few minutes ago," he said, turning away.  He tried to watch the game, while the kids were fighting over a scoop-up.  Based on the angle of the sticks being all wrong, he knew he had a few minutes.

"Really?" Jackson asked.

Derek nodded.  "Yep.  I think he and Miss Martin took pictures," he said.

That news seemed to cheer Jackson up.  He didn't go back to the bench, instead choosing to stand alongside Derek, still in full gear and his helmet.  

“Coach…  Can I go play again?  For Da-.  I mean, for Stiles?” Jackson asked, flushing at the mistake in naming.

While he would have used that moment to stress the importance of being a team player and getting everyone their turn, he watched Allison start pelting Andy with her stick on his buttocks.  

“Oh…  Why the hell not.”

“After the next score, take Allison’s spot, okay?” Derek said, hoping that Allison would let her brother live long enough for the next score.

Jackson beamed.  “Thanks!  I’ll score for Da-, Stiles!” he announced.

Sure enough, after a few moments Lydia scored again, bringing Derek’s team up by a single point.  

“Head on in,” Derek said, when Jackson looked up at him expectantly.  And of course, Jackson had to hold up his fist for a team bump.

Derek sighed as he gave the kid fist bump, doing the stupid disney white blob "lalalala" thing.  

He was really going to watch that Large Superhero 9, or whatever they were obsessing over.

+++++++++++++++++++

The game ended a little anti climatically.  

Jackson went into overdrive with Lydia and Andy, scoring four more points at the end.  Derek’s team won with a score of 16-12.  The kids were happy enough, attacking the cupcakes that Mrs. Boyd had brought for the after game snacks, and the homemade punch Mr. Argent had brought.

The kids weren’t the only ones happy.  Even with it just being a scrimmage, the parents behind Derek were flipping out as though they’d just won the Super Bowl.  He'd never understand parents like that.

Most of the parents came by to shake his hand, talk about play times, ask about the season schedule, or about the snack rotation.  There was talk of a team pool party before things got too cold.

These were the things that Derek had to worry about now.  Thank God for Ethan and Natalie Martin helping him out, that’s all he had to say.

“Coach Hale!” Jackson shouted.

Derek turned away from Robert Greenburg (who Derek was surprised to find out was relatively calm when talking about his son), and excused himself politely as Jackson dragged an ancient man on a walker towards him.

“Hey Jackson!  Who’s this?” Derek asked, as he met the two halfway on the sidelines.

"Hey Coach, hey Coach, this is my Grandpa John!  He’s Stiles’ dad, and he is a cop like Stiles is!" Jackson exclaimed.

Derek could have fainted, and he did actually do a double take.  John Stilinski, Stiles' father and the ex-deputy before the heart attack, looked like hell.  He was void of color, and looked like the victim of time travel, aging a hundred years at least.  The vibrant man he'd known before as their town's walking embodiment of justice and safety was...  Basically half-dead.  For someone who had to be in their late fifties, he looked like someone in their seventies.

Still, John reached his hand out and shook it weakly with Derek's.

"Good to finally meet you...  Stiles and Jackson are big fans of yours," John said, with a quiet chuckle under his breath.  Derek missed the colorful fit of embarassed rage on Stiles' face as he joined them, still caught up in staring at John's aged face.

Derek nodded.  "Same here sir.  My mother Talia was always very fond of you and your wife before she passed.  My condolences to both of you and your wife’s health.  Please, let me know if there is ever anything I can do for you," he explained.

John chuckled.  “Oh, I know I look like hell, but I’m not dead yet.  Claudia would smack you upside the head for saying that too!” he said affectionately, with a weak smile.

“Sorry?” Derek asked, laughing.  He figured that was something Claudia would say.

"You don't have a mommy or daddy either?" Jackson asked, interrupting John and Derek’s introduction.

The entire crowd around them went deadly silent.  Whatever revelry was quickly dashed, all eyes back on him.  

Stiles's face contorted painfully, turning up to mouth an apology while Jordan Parrish tried to get everyone talking again.   

Derek shooed Stiles' face away, rolling his eyes.  He’d gotten over it a long time ago.  "No...  Not for a long time.  My mommy died in a car accident," he said, bending down to Jackson's level.  "But I was a big kid when it happened.  I was already in high school, so…  Well, I guess it really has been a long time,” he admitted to himself.

"You didn't have a Stiles?" Jackson asked innocently.

Derek shook his head.  "Nope.  Wish I did.  Actually, I lived with my big sister Laura for a while, up until she moved away to New York.  But you’re pretty lucky, I think everyone needs their own personal Stiles, don't you?" he said, smiling playfully.

"Only if you get the Stiles older than 24," John said colorfully, laughing quietly to himself as he turned to Jackson.  "When your Stiles was 16, he was just about the most-"

"HEY, no embarrassing stories about me and my non-federally offensive misdemeanors.  No scarring the child, got it?," Stiles said, feigning insult and earning a playful giggle from Jackson's face.

"Daddy said that one time a bully stole your swimming trunks in the pool and had to walk to your jeep NAKIE," Jackson said, giggling at the story.

Stiles groaned while Derek snorted.  

"I will never live down Kira's sixteenth birthday party.  Ever.  I’m forever scarred, and I’m pretty sure Natalie still has the pictures," Stiles sighed, covering his eyes in shame.  I picking up Jackson and throwing him on his shoulders.  "Come on stinky-pants, lets get you home for a shower, and MAYBE we can talk grandma into going out for dinner if she's feeling good.  How’s her favorite Greek Restaurant sound?” he asked excitedly.

“Do I gotta eat a salad like grandpa?” Jackson asked disgustedly, sticking his tongue out at the mere thought.

“Does grandpa have to eat a salad too?” John asked, matching Jackson’s playful display.

Stiles groaned.  “Yes you both have to eat salads, or I’m putting you both in food jail with all the other bad boys and girls that don’t eat right,” he said, pointing to John immediately.  “And you’re lucky I let you out of bed rest, don’t you dare complain about salad so help me God, or its tuna for a year,” he said, in a bright, yet serious tone that implied he wasn't kidding.

“He chains me up in the basement, doesn’t he Jackie?  See if Coach Derek will come rescue me sometime,” John said sarcastically.

While Jackson giggled, Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Okay Dad, stay right here.  I’ll go pull the car closer.  Come on Jackson,” he said, waving goodbye to Derek.  “Seeya Derek, good game!  I got great pictures!” he announced.

Derek couldn’t help but smile at the sight.  But he also had to let his chest fall painfully.  Besides a small boy, it looked like Sheriff Stilinksi had everything else in the world on his shoulders.  His dad’s health, his mom’s condition, Jackson, and running the local police department.  He was one hell of a man.

"He's strong," Derek said, smiling in John’s direction.

John sighed, shaking his head.  "Too strong.  I was opposed enough letting him give up his job in LA, to take care of his mother and I, but...  Now with Jackson too?  Poor man doesn’t have a life for himself, and he lost his fiance too.  I feel like I failed my son somewhere,” he explained.

Derek’s neck spun immediately to meet John’s.  He could have been an extra in the exorcist.  “Dahler?  They were engaged, I hadn't heard that?” Derek asked, blindsided by that fact.

John shook his head.  “Not so much engaged, but they’d moved in together and were talking about marriage and kids, so…  Practically engaged.  I never liked the prick, but it was my son’s life,” he explained.

“What happened?” Derek asked.  It was only after the words slipped his lips that he realized how rude that must have sounded.

Though John didn’t seem to mind, adjusted his grip on his walker.

"Matt Dahler was a selfish man, plain and simple.  He refused to move with Stiles out of LA when Claudia and I got sick and made an ass of himself during the whole situation, telling Stiles not to give up his life for us.  I may have agreed with Matt on that fact, but he wanted Stiles to cut **_all_ ** ties with us.  They fought, but eventually tried a long distance relationship when it was just going to be a year or so of Stiles being out here, but...  After Jackson came into the picture, he stopped calling entirely.  Stiles found out on Facebook that Matt had broken up with him and was seeing someone else.  Good riddance, I say,” John explained.

Derek felt his stomach flip upside down, boiling.  Dahler was bordering douchey on the level of Russia’s President.

“At least the ass put Stiles’ stuff in storage and didn’t steal it.  At least, not all of it.  Stiles already said won't be going back to LA and plans on making a life here in Beacon Hills now.  We've discussed it at length.  We all agree that Jackson would do better here, with a town that knows and loves him.  Stiles is having the last of his things sent back here.  I just hope he can buy a home and have a live with Jackson by himself at some point.  I don’t want him trapped taking care of me and Claudia the rest of is life.  Or..  Maybe someone giving him a home of his home,” John said, sighing loudly.  The poor man sounded weary.

Derek watched Stiles pull his police car closer to the main entrance, the kids laughing with Jackson as he obviously pretended to be arrested in the back of the vehicle.  Stiles was laughing along, ruffling the kids’ hair as he pushed by them.  He had a bright smile on his face, shaking the hands of some of the other parents that must have been his classmates, and whooping when Natalie Martin slapped him on the ass.

“I think he’s pretty happy, all things considered.  I don’t think he’d smile like that if he didn’t mean it,” Derek said, walking with John and trying not to make it obvious that he was helping the prideful man in walking.

John nodded.  “I think so too…  I think he likes being home, with his friends, family, and…  His son.  I can still feel bad for him though, he’s my son and he's not got everything he wanted.  Thanks for listening to an old man, Derek,” he explained.

“My pleasure sir,” Derek replied, pausing for a moment.  Again, he questioned why someone was sharing that information with him.  “Wait..  Why did you tell me all this?” he asked.

There was a sly grin on John’s face.  “Just giving you the full picture.  From the way you look at him, I figured it would come in handy to know a little about what you’re getting into.  Stiles has Sundays and Thursdays off, but is on call 24/7.  But I’m sure I could get Parrish to cover for him if things ran a little…  Long.  Malia Tate babysits for us, so you wouldn’t have to worry about Jackson,” he said, letting go of Derek’s shoulder as Stiles came and took his father’s shoulder.  

“I uh…  Thanks?” Derek asked, as Stiles waved again.

“Bye Derek!  Have a good afternoon!” Stiles said, smiling.

He stood there for a few moments, until Ethan slapped him on the back.  "Coach, I think Mr. Stilinski wants you to take his son and-"

"Ethan, if you finish that sentence, I'll make you read War and Peace and give a 200 page dissertation on it," Derek said, clearing his throat and coming back down to earth.

Ethan held up both hands, stepping away immediately and hiding behind Mr. and Mrs. Boyd.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Derek hated eating in the cafeteria with the other teachers.  Mr. Harris always had a hard-on for telling stories about his "stupid students" and "latest victims", and Mr. Miguel obsessed with talking about Derek's "glory days" in high school, and how "ripped" he still was and how good he always looked in his lacrosse uniform.  ...  Derek really needed to call Mariska Hargitay on the both of them.  

Instead, Derek began cramming inside the counselor's office with his best friend, Isaac Lahey.  Isaac always somehow managed to sneak in take-out without the other teachers knowing, and was Derek's "fix" on a bad day.  Because believe it or not, psychiatrists were very good listeners, and Isaac was one of the best.

"I fail to see the problem," Isaac said, his legs cocked up on his colorful desk filled with hundreds of pamphlets, potential scholarships for his kids, and highlighted books on childcare.  

Derek eyeballed his friend, with a raised eyebrow, splayed out over the two chairs in front of his friend's desk.  Isaac Lahey was a pencil-thin stick of a man, with way too curly hair, and a face that one could squeeze into oblivion and still not get all of the "cute" out.  Still, for someone so wise, he was dense in the matters of love.

"I've got the hots for one of my lacrosse kids' parent, and it was his ** _father_ ** that made me figure that out.  I'd say that's a pretty big problem," Derek answered.

Isaac hummed, popping some chinese noodles into his mouth.  "So?  You've been telling me that Stiles' advice on the kids was handy, and you respect him as a father, and respect him as a man who puts family first.  What's the big deal?" he asked.

Derek groaned, rubbing his eyes.  "Isaac, I can't get through a day without thinking about him now.  He's in such a shit position right now, how can I get involved with him?  His mom is still in chemo, his dad is basically bedridden 80% of the time, and he's got a son.  Who am I to ask him out on a date?  He's a good man, and what am I?  A coach and teacher that's underpaid.  That's all I am, I'm no solution to his problem," he asked.

"You're also a good lay, if college serves me correctly.  Sex solves a lot of problems and is excellent stress relief," Isaac said, with a colorful smile.

“You don’t sound very psychological," Derek whined.

“If you want me to be your shrink, I’ll need a major credit card and charge fifty an hour.  Friends are free!" Isaac replied, kicking his feet off the desk and sitting upright.  "And as your friend?  You've changed," he said.

"What do you mean?" Derek replied.

 

"You're happy!" Isaac said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Derek scoffed.  "I've always been happy!  Well, maybe not always, but since I got a job I've been...  I've been happy," he answered.

Isaac shook his head.  "I mean, you were content.  You had a pretty good job, a nice apartment, nice things, but...  I mean, you weren't _**happy**_.  On the list of psychological needs, you were at the point where you needed something more in your life.  Love.  Belonging.  You've found someone that can give that to you, and there's nothing wrong with that.  I can't speak for Stiles, but he might appreciate a distraction for the very same reason.  I can't think of a better distraction than McHunk laying out below me.  A McHunk who's good with kids, and might not be a shit father to his new son he's just had for about a year now.  A McHunk who's responsible and a good influence on people," he explained.

Derek popped another piece of chicken in his mouth with his chopsticks.  "Huh...  You think?" he asked.  There was a small smile on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Isaac chucked a fortune cookie at Derek's head.  " _ **Ask him out!** _  He said for you to call him for anything!  Why not use that as a pretense?  Is there anything the lacrosse team needs?  I bet he'd do just about anything for Jackson."

He thought for all of a second before sighing disgustingly at the obvious problem needing solved before the first season game.

"We could use uniforms that aren't 20 years old..." Derek said, grumbling at the last coach's distaste of spending any kind of money and the school board's nonexistent pee wee budget.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek had come to learn that teaching and coaching weren't all that different.  In fact, they complimented each other and made a great combination.  

In team practice, he had to motivate the kids to want to do better and improve on where they were weak.  In teaching high school kids, he had to motivate the kids to use the oxford comma and proper sentence structure, or they'd never make it in college composition.  Even the non-college kids would eventually need to write a proper email in a work environment.

While coaching, he often had to be a little more verbal and "loud" to make his point across.  In teaching, he had to develop "loud" assignments that were more "tough" to make his kids think outside of the box, and not such use Control+F on the internet to find the answers to all their questions.  

Coaching had bled into his teaching, and teaching had bled into his coaching.  

As odd of a situation as it was, he felt himself growing as a person, with a new motivation in life after Stiles' speech to him.  He realized he truly was a figure of authority in the lives of many young people, and needed to capitalize on that if he wanted to make any sort of difference in the world.  

Derek didn't have to be like his father, and he wasn't going to be.  

Two months into coaching, and it wasn't just him that saw the changes.  Parents called or emailed him in his free time to thank him for his "firm hand" in the classroom, and was frequently a dinner guest at one of his lacrosse kids' homes to thank him for his "unforgettable fun" he gave the kids.  Granted, the latter was probably because of the "Zombie Lacrosse" Ethan had helped rig up for one particularly energetic practice.

Even the Principal, Mr. Gerard, had complimented his "improved attitude and work ethic becoming of a professional educator".  Because even when giving a compliment, Mr. Gerard Argent was a bastard who couldn't come out and say it.  

So it was with a new-found pride that he went up and down the aisles of his small AP Class of twenty students, holding a copy of Great Expectations in his hands.  The group discussion over the completion of the book had been above average, with most of the kids thinking outside of the Sparknotes discussion forums.  Then again, given that he frequented those forums himself, he knew the kind of questions they likely would have pre-prepared for.  

He adjusted the red tie of his charcoal grey suit, letting his black shoes clop intimidatingly as everyone knew he was picking his next "victim".

"Now...  We've got a couple of minutes left, so why don't we visit with Mr. Mahalani for our last talk?  He's been awfully quiet this hour, and that's not normal," Derek said, to the snickering of the classroom.  Even the tanned and handsome figure of Danny Mahalani laughed, egging it on as he hid under his desk obviously.  

"SIR, I volunteer as tribute!" Kate Argent yelled, throwing up her hand to the bemusement of her boyfriend that rolled his eyes behind him.  Her blonde hair bobbed as she reenacted the scene from the Hunger games, as dramatic as she could manage.

"Very funny Miss Argent," Derek said, rolling his eyes as he bent down to Danny's level.

"I see you there Mr. Mahalani, there is no need in hiding.  Tell me your opinion on Estella and Pip's relationship in the book, in any capacity," he said, taking pity on the boy and throwing him an easy question.

"A booty call gone bad?" Danny offered.

While the class erupted in laughter, Derek sighed, rolling his eyes.  He stood up again, patting his book on Danny's desk.

"I'll take it that you'll discuss them as a romantic couple then.  So then, what do you think Stella represented to Pip, or what Pip represented to Stella?  Was she really just a "booty call" as you put it so eloquently Mr. Mahalani, or was there something more there?" Derek said, smirking in Danny's direction.  

He didn't want to embarrass the kid, but Danny never really tried in English.  He'd been poking Danny's brain all semester, and the teen had a good habit of having something great to talk about, but deep within that grey matter.  No, Mr. Mahalani was more concerned with his AP Physics or programming assignments than to actually try to think.

The teenager shrugged, in the usual confused glare he had.  For all the things Danny Mahalani was in the maths, programming, and computer sciences, he lacked any and all literary talent.  "I dunno.  Ask my boyfriend, he's always got the answers, but you never call on him," he said, shoving the ROTC fatigues of Ethan Neighland, Derek's assistant coach.

Buzz cut, ripped, and without a doubt going to be one of the best marines in the country some day, Ethan Neighland was Derek's best student, and he watched Ethan immediately shove his boyfriend back.  

"Pip saw Estella as someone a lot like himself.  Dissatisfied and hating the situation of her birth.  Though whereas Pip tried to overcome the circumstances of his birth and the mistakes he made in life, and made himself into a stronger person, Estella gave in to societal pressures of Mrs. Havisham and lets herself be miserable.  Which is why there was so much discourse and misunderstandings between the two characters.  They both had such "great expectations" hoisted upon them, in different ways, but went into two entirely different paths," Ethan explained.

Derek smiled, the teen had such a brilliant mind.  He wished Ethan would go to college instead of the military, but the boy had to get out of a shitty home and a revolving door of drug-addicted relatives.  No..  Derek would support him in whatever he needed to get done.  

"What he said," Danny said, while the class laughed at Derek's frowning eyebrows.

"Thank you Mr. Neighland, and for your information Mr. Mahalani, I call upon you more frequently because I'm more than aware that Ethan has read the course material.  You, on the other hand, are a hit and miss case, and I don't want your brain to melt from all the numbers and coding you have stored up there.  Take a break and read every now and then.  It's relaxing," he explained, smiling.

"Thanks Teach," Danny said sarcastically.

The bell rang, ending their discussion for that day.

"That's all for today.  Make sure and read the first three chapters of The Great Gatsby by Friday, and we WILL have a quiz over it!  Sparknotes will not save your soul this time, so actually read it or face eternal darkness," Derek said dramatically, moving to the whiteboard and erasing its contents.  He tried to ignore the audible groans and mild egg-related threats to his car.  

With eleventh grade AP Literature finished, he was now onto ninth grade basic English.  He sighed, knowing that many of them likely hadn't read the material for 1984, and the few that did were not going to liken it to the Twilight or Harry Potters they wrote about in the eighth grade.  

Hell awaited him, and he knew it came in the form of Carter Tate, Malia Tate's far too inquisitive son, who'd likely already read the entire book and was waiting to spoil the contents.  The little prick was a brilliant student, and very well behaved, but always had something to prove about himself, sometimes going way above the call of duty.

"Derek?" Stiles asked.

Turning, Derek faced...  Well, he assumed it was Sheriff Stilinksi standing in the doorway, but he was blocked, holding what appeared to be a cardboard box that could fit about three of him in.

"Sheriff, come on in, come on in," Derek said, moving to Stiles' side and assisting him in laying out the box on a back table covered with college and community college brochures he'd been passing out to his kids of all ages.

Once the box was put down, Stiles brushed off the dust from his uniform, huffing.  "Because, yeah, no, that box is completely obnoxious and over sized," he said, turning around and wolf whistling immediately as he took in Derek's suit and tie.

"A little different than a track suit, right?" Derek asked.

"I'll say!" Stiles said, shaking his head.  "Someone cleans up nicely!  How do you afford that on a teacher's salary?  Should I be looking for embezzlement charges in your rap sheet?" he asked, smirking.

Derek rolled his eyes, smoothing out his suit.  "My sister is very generous around holidays, and my Uncle Peter sells me his hand-me-down Armani for twenty bucks each.  But believe me, if I was embezzling from the school, I'd be paying my rent and not buying suits," he explained, grimacing as his next paycheck was already spent before he even got it.

"I hear you, money sucks the big one," Stiles said, patting the box.  "Speaking of which, let's unveil the cheap spending of the Beacon Hills Police Department sponsorship," he said, pulling out a pocket knife from his belt and cutting into the cardboard box.

After a few minutes of cutting and unwrapping from plastic, Stiles unwrapped a bundle of fabric and threw it at Derek.  

Unfolding it, Derek smiled.  They really were plain, but better than the practice jerseys that they'd been using that didn't even have a team name on them.  Scarlet red, in the typical lacrosse jersey design.  The one he had, surprisingly enough, was emblazoned with a thirteen on the back in solid white.  The short shoulder sleeve had the design that Chris Argent had made up for the parent t-shirts, a little wolf howling up in front of a full moon.

The kids were going to go batshit crazy over them.

"Sorry they don't have names, but...  Well, the police department didn't have that much money made at our charity ball this year.  Oh well, this way you can recycle them every year.  We're being environmental, not cheap," Stiles said.

Derek rolled his eyes.  "When I asked for you to help me with the jerseys last week, I didn't mean for the police department to pay for them.  I appreciate it though," he explained.

"Hey!  It's my son's team.  Jackson Stilinski is never ever not going to have his dad's support, and the support of steroid crazed cops that aren't total wimpy puppies on the inside, no sir," Stiles retorted.

Derek smiled.  He still recalled the day when Jackson came up to him before practice not a week earlier, saying he'd been " 'dopted ".  That Derek had to call him Jackson Stilinksi from now on, because Stiles was his new dad.  

"Oh, but I'm not done!  The parents all went in together to get you something else," Stiles said, fumbling through the box, nearly falling in entirely with just his butt hanging in the air..  An angle that Derek did not stare at, no, not in the slightest.

When he came back up, Stiles was holding a plastic package that he threw at Derek.  "For you Coach Hale," he offered.

Catching the package, Derek tore it open with his hands, and pulled out...

"You did not," Derek said, unfurling the soft fabric.  It was a plain white and scarlet jacket that was a little bigger than necessary.  "Coach Hale" was embroidered on the back, and he had his own little moon and his own little wolf on the sleeve.  The Nike logo was just on the back of the neck, and had to be a very expensive piece.  Something he would be able to wear with jeans, or actual clothes.  It was nice enough that he could burn the coach hat he'd inherited from the last coach.

Sheriff Stilinksi came up, patting Derek on the shoulder.  "Now you can stop looking like a sad man relieving his teenage youth in that track suit.  Seriously, do you know how tight that thing is on your butt?" he snorted,

Derek sighed, flinging the jacket over his shoulder.  "No I don't.  I think I look just fine, thank you very much," he retorted.  Though he knew he was full of shit.  The track suit had shrunk after a few rounds in the washing machine, and a little too much time on leg day at the gym had left it a near impossibly tight fit.  

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Derek, they're doing the "booty" song in the stands whenever you jump.  I'm pretty sure Mrs. Reyes would leave her husband for "dat ass"," he said, even going so far as you use air quotes.

"The...  "Booty" song?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles grinned.  "You know?  Look at dat booty, show me the booty, I want the booty, back up the booty," he sang, shutting up immediately as the ninth graders began piling up inside the classroom.  

"Dear God," Derek said, rubbing his forehead.

Scoffing, Stiles shook his head.  "Ah, the troubles with being a dilf.  You're lacrosse mom bait, my dear man," he said, patting Derek on the shoulder.  "I've got to get back to work.  I left Parrish in charge, and I don't trust him with my computer," he said, making his way away from Derek and putting his pocket knife back into his belt.

"Thank you Stiles," Derek said, taking a deep breath and deciding to go ahead and get it over with.  If he didn't, he owed Isaac lunch for a month.  "Would you like to get dinner sometime this weekend?  I’d like to get to know you more,” he asked quietly, getting drowned out by the sound of his classroom getting packed.

Stiles's face mashed into a peculiar shape.  Halfway between disbelief and "did I actually hear that correctly?".

“Is this..  Are you asking me on a date?” Stiles asked, with a pronounced scoff.

Derek nodded.  "Well, yeah.  I'm asking you on a date," he said again.

It took all of a moment for Stiles' face to drop, rubbing the back of his short hair nervously.

“You do realize I’ve got a kid, right?  I live with my sick parents.  I’m not going to be the partying type.  Not that I think you’re a partying type, but..  Well, my idea of a great weekend is either out practicing with my son in the backyard, or vegging out on the couch, and maybe a movie night if Jackson whines enough.  My family is first, every time too, so…  Yeah, just giving you the facts ahead of time.” Stiles said, folding his arms.  Though he still smiled.  “Not that I’m saying no, I’d like a date, but…  Yeah, just laying out the facts here.  I'm moderately boring to be around when I'm not working endless shifts,” he explained.

Derek nodded, folding his arms in a similar fashion to Stiles.  “I figured as much.  Still, yes, I’m interested.  I’ve never been all that outgoing myself, but I’m looking for something long-term, something stable.  You've got a good head on your shoulders, and a good heart.  So...  Yeah.  I'm asking you on a date," he said once more.

After a brief silence, Stiles nodded.  "I'd like that then.  I'm off this Sunday, and I'm sure I can get Malia to babysit.  How about 8 o'clock, so I can have the afternoon with my son?" he asked.

"Sounds good.  I'll pick you up at your place, and I'll make arrangements for a reservation somewhere nice.  You've got my number from lacrosse if anything changes," Derek said.

"Okay then.  See you at the game Saturday, and then I guess I'll see you Sunday night. I don't do Thai," Stiles said, smiling as he and Derek headed towards the door.

"Mr. Hale, is that your boyfriend?" a girl asked, to the immature giggling of his fourteen year olds.

Derek glared at them all.

"No, that is not my boyfriend, that is the Sheriff of the town, Sheriff Stilinski," Derek answered.

The laughter died down immediately.  Derek was giving them all "the look".  

Stiles nodded.  "He called me here to handcuff anyone who didn't do their homework like he wanted it done," he said seriously.  

The kids laughed, figuring it to be a joke.  

Instead, they were met with a dark, serious glance.  Stiles pulled his cuffs out and let them clink and clang until he dropped them on Derek's desk.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Stiles said, in the most furious deadpan of his life.  

All the kids shook their heads, in a mixture of fear and awe.  Derek could see their eyes bugging out.  

They'd all heard the rumors about the "Mr. Hale the Horrid", but Stiles was adding fuel to the fire that was his growing reputation as the toughest teacher in Beacon Hills High school.

Mr. Harris could  go eat his heart out.  He was bad-ass AND the kids liked him.  

+++++++++++++++

If Stiles thought that Derek looked "cleaned up" outside of his coaching attire, someone hadn't looked in a mirror.  

Outside of his officer uniform, Stiles cleaned up just as nice.  While he couldn't stand a tie, his tan sport-coat and well tailored jeans still managed a formal appearance.

Though he was under-dressed for the bistro they were in.  Not that Derek or anybody else cared, with half the town crashing their date to say hello, snoop in on the new couple in town, or wish Stiles well.  

For the majority of the date, it was small talk over the cheapest steaks they could both afford.  Stiles talked about his adventures in the police academy, and over the happier endings in some of his less than pleasant cases in Los Angelos.  Derek, in turn, shared his college experiences and stories about his attempted and failed Master’s Degree in literature.

“So they actually cut off your grant because they bought a new football stadium?” Stiles said, mouth firmly dropped as he sipped on his after dinner wine.

Derek sighed.  “The English department was neutered.  Actually anything in liberal arts lost half of its budget.  Not that I blame them, football brought in over half of the school’s income, but it stunk regardless.  I might go back someday, but…  It’s not all that necessary nowadays to teach, and I’m happy where I’m at,” he offered, taking a long sip of his tea.

“Same here,” Stiles said, leaning back in his seat and patting his stomach, full from the steak and potatoes he'd engulfed.  “God I’m getting fat.  It’s the doughnuts at the office, I’m telling you.  I’ve got to come up with a new rule about sweets at work, but then I’d have a mutiny on my hands and I’d have to work all day long and have no time for Jax,” he whined.

Derek saw the underlying smile on Stiles’ face.  “How is Jax doing?  Still taking the adoption well?” he asked.

Nodding, Stiles hummed as he declined a refill on his wine, instead reaching for his glass of water.  “He’s young, so I don’t think he knows exactly what’s going on.  Maybe it’s relief…   Like a “final” step he needed to take in order to know this was permanent.  Kids like structure and stability, so maybe that’s it,” he replied, not all that confident in his answer.

“Has he called you dad yet?  I know he keeps almost calling you that in practice,” Derek asked.

Shaking his head, Stiles shut his eyes.  "I still don't feel like a dad, so I don't push it.  Even if he wants to call me that, it's his decision to make when and if he does it.  I don't want to take Scott's place in his heart as Dad, because I'll never be able to do that,” he replied solemnly.

Derek frowned.  Despite going back into his old yearbook and spotting Scott McCall’s picture, he couldn’t remember the man in the slightest.  Though he spotted the man in several photos all throughout the yearbook, mostly in the sports sections.  Except for a picture in the dead center of the book, with the tanned teen having his arms firmly planted around Stiles’ waist, both giving a “peace” sign while covered in paint from the prom decorating committee.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know him.  He seems to be a good man,” Derek said, offering a soft pat on the hand as a condolence.  

Stiles laughed.  “I think you would have liked him.  Everyone did, really,” he said, opening his eyes as he bent over the table, eyes forlorn.  "Scott...  He was the kind of person who didn't have a lick of common sense or book smarts in him.  All brawn, no brains.  In today’s school system, he probably would have failed, or been a dropout.  Scott was sort of an idiot,” he explained.

“What a glowing review,” Derek offered, hoping to lighten the mood.

Stiles shook his head.  "But...  He had a heart.  He had confidence.  He had a moral compass and the kind of pride that made him never give up.  The kind of kindness that doesn't come around every other day,” he said, crossing his legs.  Stiles reached for a roll in the middle of the table, if only to play with more than anything else.  “Dumb as he was, Scott still got into college, mostly because his mother paid for it all.  We went together, and helped each other out.  He and Kira, Jackson’s parents, had been dating all of six months in our Junior year.  Either the condom ripped, or Kira’s birth control failed, because Jackson was a complete surprise,” he explained.

Derek just started, not wanting to interrupt.  Stiles’ face seemed to be mildly prideful.

“A baby was expensive.  Neither of them had a job.  They were both in college, living in a dorm.  Kira’s family was halfway across the planet.  Scott’s mother was a nurse barely making a living with all the hospital budget cuts and Scott’s college fees.  Pretty much everyone in our circle of friends were telling Scott to run for the hills, or for Kira to “take care of the problem”.  Me?  Well…  I kept my mouth shut, because it wasn’t any of my business,” Stiles explained.

“I guess what happened was pretty obvious, but…  How did it work out?” Derek asked.

Stiles chuckled.  “Scott and Kira happened, and damn if they didn’t take the worst situation and turn it into a motivational speech.  Scott took on a 5 AM to 12 PM shift at a local bar as a dishwasher, on top of his part time job from 8 PM to 12 AM.  He went to school from 2 PM to about 6 PM daily, taking on more than the standard courseload.  His life was all about work, school, and making sure he had the kind of education and job for his son to live a good life.  Kira was just as passionate.  Up until the last stages of the pregnancy, she was a full time student and worked in the college as a translator for foreign students, and was a tutor to pretty much the entire Japanese community on campus,” he explained, smiling proudly.

 “By the time Jackson was born, they both had enough savings to afford a small apartment.  Kira graduated early, and Scott not long after Jackson was born.  I tried to babysit for them as often as I could, so that Scott could continue to work on his vet degree, and Kira to go through police academy with me.  Which is sort of how I ended up as Jackson’s guardian I suppose.  We were attached at the hip from the moment he was born,” Stiles said, sighing.  “Though they didn’t want to raise a baby in the big city, and had more support back here.  By the time Jackson was about 2, Scott was a vet and Kira had gotten hired on as a police officer here in Beacon Hills.  That was when I got my promotion to SVU, and had to say goodbye for a while,” Stiles said.

Derek whistled under his breath.  “Damn.  Those two didn’t do anything halfway did they?” he asked.

“Nope,” Stiles answered, throwing his roll back into the middle of the table.  “That’s the kind of father Scott was, and that’s the kind of mother Kira was.  I can’t hold a candle to either of them, and I…  I’m not any kind of parent compared to them.  They sacrificed their partying and youth years to be parents, and loved every minute of it.  Not once did I ever see them regret any of it.  They loved their son more than life itself, and now they…  They don’t even get to reap the rewards of that,” Stiles answered.

Derek watched Stiles’ face churn.  

“Who am I to to be his “dad”,” Stiles said jokingly, but with a hinge of honesty that shot a spike through Derek’s stomach.

Derek took a calm breath.  "Stiles, let me tell you something,” he said, eyeing Stiles carefully as he earned the Sheriff’s undivided attention.   

"I never had a father.  I never knew what it was like to have a father figure be proud of me.  There wasn't someone there to teach me how to shave, or play baseball with, or all those stereotypical "father" things that anyone could do.  Even my mother was distant from us, working such long hours that I never got to know her.  My sister was older than I was, and had her own friends.  Except for Isaac and Jordan, I didn’t have squat,” Derek said bluntly.

Stiles, taken aback, could only blink silently.

"Let me just say this, as someone that never had a father?  Never had a mother, or a parent?”  Derek said, pausing momentarily.  "Jackson is lucky to have you.  He's lucky to have someone that cared enough to take him in, someone who cares enough to be at practically all of his lacrosse games, play “old man” Nintendo with, and be the kind of person he needs right now by his side.  Just like I was lucky to have my big sister after mom died.  I was a shitty teenager, and she was in college at New York.  She came home without a moment’s hesitation and changed her entire life for me.  Even if you can’t see it now, while he’s young, you’re probably the most important person in his life,” Derek explained, glancing at Stiles seriously.

Silently, Stiles dropped his glance away.

“Don’t try to be Scott and Kira.  You won’t be them, and you can’t do what they did.  Instead, be Stiles for Jackson.  The goofy uncle turned goofy father, who is, and I quote from last week’s pool party, “the coolest most awesome person ever”,” Derek said, with a warm smile.   

Stiles looked up, smiling.  “I needed that.  Thank you,” he answered happily, coughing through the awkwardness and laughing like his old self.  "Wow, I think I broke just about every single "what not to do on a first date" rules in the entire world.  The Cosmo editors could do a full spread on me," he said, with a happy grin.

"They also do the same sex articles every six months, so I question their validity in the world.  I like talking about family anyway,” Derek replied.

Stiles clapped his hands together.  “Hey now, let’s talk about them then!  Tell me about your sister!  She sounds like a hell of a woman,” he said eagerly.

"Well, my sister is a nurse in New York.  Her husband is a college professor in the English department  I've got two nephews and three nieces.  A set of twins and a set of triplets, all that get taken care of by my retired Uncle Peter that’s living with them.  She's expecting another batch of twins in about three months, despite them just wanting one more.  I told my sister she needs to have her uterus donated to science after she dies," Derek said.

Tales of Laura Hale by Derek would turn into tales of Claudia Stilinski by Stiles, and eventually both come to realize that family was a big part of both of their lives.  

They’d also both come to learn that they wanted the same thing.  A home all their own, with children that had attentive parents that cared about them.

+++++++++++

With dinner over, and having talked so long about family that the movies were out, Sunday evening came to a quiet end by 11 PM, leaving them not much else to do but return home.

Derek, as gentlemanly as he could, opened the door to his SUV and led Stiles inside the Stilinksi home.  As soon as they entered, they were met with a touching surprise.

Malia Tate, the brunette owner of Sal’s Diner, had a very sleepy Jackson laying on her lap, struggling to keep his eyes open.  The ending credits to a cartoon movie were playing on the television screen.

Pajama-clad in hand-me-down captain america designs, Jackson rubbed his eyes sleepily.  “Hi Stiles,” he yawned.

Malia smiled, chuckling.  “He didn’t want to go to bed without his Stiles tucking him in.  I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly.

Stiles shook his head, moving over to the couch and picking up the sleepy figure.  “Not at all, but you better get to bed soon big guy!  You’ve got school in the morning!” he said.  He turned to Malia.  “I owe you a big one Malia, thank you.  There’s a twenty in my wallet, please take it, if only for the gas,” he said, planting his wallet into Malia’s palm.

“If you insist,” Malia said, standing up to stretch out.  She did take the twenty, only to immediately press the twenty back into Stiles’ hands.  “For Carter’s fund at the station,” she insisted.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles nodded.  “Alright then.  Tell Carter I said hi and to stop by sometime, I haven't seen him in a while,” he explained, waving at Derek.  "Stay a bit, we'll have coffee and chat a bit more.  Let me just take sleepy-pants to bed and tuck him in," Stiles said, planting a kiss on Jackson's forehead as he lifted him up over his shoulder.  

Stiles left, and Derek awkwardly fiddled his shoes off as Malia picked up her belongings.  

“Mr. Hale, we haven’t had a chance to talk.  Malia Tate, Carter Tate’s mother.  I believe you teach him ninth grade English,” Malia said, reaching her hand out to shake Derek’s.

Derek smiled.  “Yes, he’s a bright student.  Very driven, I hope he takes my AP level classes next year,” he said, speaking honestly.  Just like he’d figured, Carter Tate really had read all of 1984, and wanted to spend the entire lunch hour talking about it.  Which, Derek did.  The boy had excellent thoughts about the piece.

Malia chuckled.  “You can thank Stiles for that, really,” she explained, as she moved to throw a few things into her purse.  

“Huh?” Derek asked.

Malia nodded.  "Stiles helped my son get clean right after he became Sheriff last year.  Carter had a problem with authority, was part of that rebellious gang that were vandalizing the town with graffiti and breaking windows.  The Red Thirteens, do you remember?” he asked.

Derek wanted to spit.  The little bastard gang, Red Thirteens, was a group of shitty kids that went around town breaking stuff for “fun”.  His apartment window had gotten shattered because of them.

“Yeah…  I remember them,” Derek said, immediately scoffing.  “Carter was part of that?  You’re kidding!” he said, unable to picture the studious, polite young man as one of those thug kids.

Malia chuckled.  “Well, he was.  Stiles helped him out of it though,” she answered.

“How?” Derek asked.

"Oh nothing much.  Stiles caught him in the act, threw him in the back of the police car after cuffing him and slamming him on the hood of the car.  Then he threw Carter in jail after calling me,” Malia said, as though she were speaking about the weather.

Derek's eyes must have said a lot, blowing out of their sockets.

Malia laughed, pulling on her jacket.  "It actually wasn't jail.  Stiles just took him to the booking station of the county jail, where a friend of his worked at.  Had him get “booked” with a practice kit, and made him stay outside of the place where you get strip searched and washed to go into the main prison.  Pretended that there was a problem with the computer system, so Carter just had to sit there and watch convicts go in and out in chains for the better part of three hours, just buying time for me to come pick Carter up.   From what I understand, Carter started crying about thirty minutes in.  Apparently, the convicts were very “verbal” to Carter about his shitty decision making skills, but Stiles never left his side and never said a word.  Think one of those “scared straight” prison shows, but for just one kid, all up until the fifth hour, when Stiles asked Carter if he wanted a second chance to make things right and let him go home and forget the whole thing,” she explained.

“You’re kidding me,” Derek said, dropping his jaw.  Of all the things he picture Stiles Stilinksi doing, that was not one of them.  He didn’t scream “tough love”.

Malia took a deep breath, sighing.  “Stiles gave him a second chance, and he certainly didn’t have to.  He’d been Sheriff for all of a month and was already swamped with dozens of problems that people were blaming on him.  Arresting one of the delinquents would have definitely helped his image.  Instead, Stiles spent his night off work, showing my son what was going to happen if he didn't straighten up.  Made a big difference in his life, and…  That didn’t happen to the other kids in the gang, they’re all in juvie right now.  And, that could have been my son too,” she explained.

“Wow,” Derek said quietly.  He needed to start making a powerpoint of the ways Stiles was a good parent, just in case he ever doubted himself again.

"Stiles made a deal with the local business so that nobody pressed charges against my son.  Carter is still mowing lawns and working odd jobs to pay back every dollar of damages, even a year later.  A few businesses offered to call it even after seeing his change, but Carter wouldn't hear of it.  He says he'll pay back every dime, even if it kills him.  I don’t know how Stiles got them to agree to that, but…  I owe him a lot," Malia said, moving towards the door with her purse in hand, stopping just beside Derek.

"Stiles is a good man, and his son is absolutely adorable.  Be good to them, okay?" Malia asked, waving as she moved past Derek and shut the front door behind, leaving the home.

Derek tried to make himself more comfortable, pulling off his suit jacket and folding it over an armchair.  

“Hey..” Stiles said, leaning against the staircase he’d just gone upstairs to.

“Everything okay?  I can leave if your parents are sleeping up-” Derek offered kindly.

“Actually, Jackson would like to talk to you.  If you don’t mind,” Stiles said, interrupting Derek’s sentence.

Derek rose a curious eyebrow.  

"I think...  I think he's got questions about our date, actually.  I didn’t lie to him about what we were doing, I don’t believe in that.  Still, it's "top secret" what Jackson wants to talk about, apparently, he’s too embarrassed to tell me," Stiles said, shucking off his sports coat and hanging it on the wall.  "If you don't want to deal with it, I can-"

"No, I'll go talk," Derek said, loosening his tie and pocketing it in his pants.

Stiles nodded.  "Upstairs, first door on the right.  It's his bedroom," he answered, not meeting Derek’s glance as he made his way upstairs.

Being as quiet as he could, hearing the voluminous snores coming from a bedroom just down the hallway (obviously Mr. or Mrs. Stilinski), Derek stopped at the room with a nightlight just outside of it.  The door was cracked, and he pushed it open.

The room definitely looked like a seven-year-old’s design.  A box of toys was neatly kept at the edge, filled with stuffed animals and what looked like the old-school Power Rangers zords that he’d seen at Jordan’s house.  Posters of cartoon characters were on the wall, as well as another night light glowing at the immediate right of Jackson’s bed.  the bedspread was a homemade quilt, on top of Mickey Mouse sheets that looked ancient.

Then, there was the painfully obvious photograph on the pillow next to Jackson.  A photo of a much older Scott McCall, who Derek assumed was Kira McCall, and Stiles in the background, all making goofy faces with Jackson on a California Beach.

“Hi Coach,” Jackson said, yawning as he tried to fight off sleep.

“Hey Jackson, you wanted to ask me something?” Derek asked.

The lad nodded sleepily.  “Stiles said you guys went on a date,” he said matter-of-factly.

Derek nodded.  “We did.  I think we both had a lot of fun,” he answered.  It wasn’t a lie, they had both enjoyed themselves, eventually getting kicked out of the closing restaurant.

“Are you and Stiles gonna get married?” Jackson asked quietly.

Derek shook his head, chuckling.  “Not right away Jackson, we just had one date.  Marriage or things like that takes a long time to happen,” he said, ruffling Jackson’s hair.  

The boy grimaced in disappointment.  “Oh…” he answered.  Jackson slid under his covers, his eyes slowly wavering into sleep.  “Do you love Stiles?”

Derek shrugged.  “I like Stiles.  I think he’s handsome, strong, and a good person.  Though I can’t say I love him yet, we’ve only just met.  There’s a lot of things we need to talk about before then.  But…  I think I might someday _**very soon**_ ,” he answered, again, as honestly as he could.

Because he was.  He was falling in love with Stiles Stilinksi.

“Can you keep a secret?” Jackson asked.

Derek turned his head curiously.  “What kind of a secret?” he asked.

++++++++++++++++++++

After pinky swearing to secrecy for all time, Derek finally made his way downstairs.  Stiles had already changed into just a t-shirt and gym shorts, spread out and half-asleep on the couch while he sipped a cup of coffee.

“You were up there for a while.  Should I be concerned?” Stiles asked playfully.

Derek shook his head.  “No, he just had a lot of questions.  Like if we were getting married,” he said, which wasn’t a lie to Stiles, but also wasn’t betraying Jackson’s trust.  Besides, he knew Stiles would love to know the secret, but in good time.

Stiles chuckled.  “Wow.  That’s equal parts adorable and embarrassing,” he said, shifting his position on the couch to make room for Derek.  

Spotting the sheets on the floor next to them, Derek mentally groaned.

"Please tell me you don't sleep on the couch," Derek said, clutching his stomach.  It didn’t take long for Derek to realize there were only two bedrooms in the house, and they were both currently occupied.

Stiles shook his head.  "Nah, I've got an air mattress upstairs.  I share the room with Jackson, but it's too late to blow it up without waking mom up.  I can crash on the couch for one night," he said, sighing.  “But I can’t do that forever.  Once mom’s chemo is done or dad is finished with physical therapy and back in a good spot, I’ve got to get a place for Jax and I.  My back is going to go out if I don’t,” he said, stretching out to abandon his coffee on the nearby table.

“You amaze me,” Derek muttered.

“Huh?” Stiles responded, having not heard the words clearly enough.

Derek smirked, eyeing Stiles.  “I said…   _ **You amaze me**_ ,” he said.  Derek leaned in, pressing his lips against Stiles'.  

He wrapped his hands around Stiles' neck and hand, pulling him close and into a deep kiss.

For all of an instant, he felt his stomach flash in ice, as Stiles didn't reciprocate.  He didn't move, with Derek driving the entire movement, just about to pull away out of shame and embarrassment.

Then, Stiles pushed back, putting his own arms around Derek's face and neck.  His weight pushed Derek to a laying position, as Stiles took the initiative and nibbled on Derek's lips.

Everything was soft, with Derek’s hands slowly moving away from Stiles’ head and down his back, holding the man gently in his arms.  Stiles lowered his hands to Derek’s chest, gently massaging the pecs, while slowly exchanging tongues between their lips.

The soft ebbed quickly, as heat got under their skin, passion flowing through their veins.

Stiles was hard, his erection pressing up against Derek's, as slow motion ground their dicks together.

When Stiles finally came back up for air, panting inches away from Derek's face, their eyes never once wavered from each other.  Derek lifted up for another kiss, a chaste peck on the lips.

It was then that Derek had to utter the most painful words he could imagine at that point.

"We can't have sex on your parent's couch with your kid upstairs," Derek said frankly.

Stiles nodded.  "Yeah, no, we can't," he panted, pressing one last kiss into Derek's lips savoring the touch before Stiles pushed back, straddling Derek's lap.  He cleared his throat, letting them separate and move back to a sitting position they’d been moments ago.

Their breath was heavy, faces flushed.

"Sorry if that was forward.  I don’t believe in beating around the bush, and…  You really are amazing," Derek said.

Stiles sheepishly shook his head.  "No, that was..  That was good.  I...  I haven't held someone like that in..  Over a year.  Hell, I've never had a kiss like that in my life.  It was so..." he admitted

"Real?" Derek offered, hoping to vocalize his own thoughts on the matter.

“God yes, so real, so warm, so much…  So much…  So much meaning,” Stiles said, pausing as the words failed to come to his lips.

Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own, gripping it tightly.  “You and your son are very important to me right now,” he said, smiling.  “I’d like to be a part of your life.  The good and the bad, so…  Please let me help you if I can.  In any way.  I told Jackson I liked you a lot, and I meant that.  This may not be a conventional relationship or a conventional way of dating, but…  I’m okay with that,” he explained.

Stiles slowly leaned his head on Derek’s shoulders.  “Thanks.  I’ll remember that,” he answered, smiling.  

Their first date would end with the two falling asleep on each other, and Derek awaking to a very smug John Stilinksi in the wee hours of Monday morning to make sure they both got to work on time.


	4. Chapter 4

+

The whole town seemed to be out to make Derek and Stiles “a thing”.  After their first date, subtlety was thrown out the window and into an oncoming train as far as Beacon Hills was concerned.  Derek blamed John Stilinski and his underground network of police gossip informants.  Forget the old ladies at salons, cops were the way to go for any and all matters love related.

It all started, unsurprisingly, with John Stilinski.  The man always seemed eager to watch Jackson during their dates or find something around the house that needed Derek's immediate help when Stiles was off work (a loose shingle on the house, minor electrical work, or an awfully convenient clogged toilet with a rubber duck).  Though Derek didn't mind, because John's meddling gave the old man his color back, and he seemed to have just a little more "pep" in his step.  

Then there was Natalie Martin, who just seemed to always have an excuse to slip Derek some sort of theatre or movie tickets she just had "lying" around. Tickets to shows that, what a surprise, were all of Stiles' favorite kind of films or performances.  Natalie really was Stiles' best friend, even after all those years.  

Of all the people he was surprised to find supportive, it was the entire Beacon Hills police department.  Figuring they wouldn't want their sheriff to be distracted, Derek couldn't have been more wrong.  On more than one occasion, he'd find himself chewing the fat with one of the city's finest, out in the grocery store, at the gym, or even on the street.  They were all obsessed about asking when Derek might need them to take an extra shift for their friend and boss.  Though he wasn’t stupid.  While they might have been truly caring for Stiles, performance reviews would be popping up in the coming month.  He was so onto those (still lovable) sneaky bastards.

Though Derek wasn't just dating Stiles, a fact that came with dating any single parent.  Really, it was more like dating an entire family, to get to know if he was compatible as a potential father for Jackson.

As such, Jackson tagged along on the few times that Jordan Parrish or some other official just happened to "need the overtime" in order to take one of Stiles' shifts, and they could spend the entire weekend together.  While he'd worried what Jackson would have thought about having his new father figure date someone, the boy apparently didn't think anything of it.  If anything, Jackson seemed to love their day trips, and always begged for Derek to spend the night after their all night movie marathons.  Although the boy could have lived without the "gross kissy stuff" that Derek and Stiles shared.

By the time the pee wee lacrosse season was over (an undefeated season up until the county level, thank you very much), Derek had become a full-time part of the Stilinski family.  With nothing to do in his free time, he turned into a babysitter for Jackson on long days that Stiles didn't get home for, and chauffeur for Claudia and John to their medical appointments when nobody else was available.  He spent more time at Stiles’ home than his own, and he’d never been happier.

Not that his happiness made things any easier on his students.  If anything, his joy turned into motivation, and motivation turned into him pushing his kids even harder as Thanksgiving approached.

Standing at the front of his AP Lit class, Derek had his legs crossed while he leaned again the whiteboard.  “...and so Nick Carraway is more or less an observer and all of Gatsby’s events.  Could one of you explain to me why he was so affected by them?  Why a man who could have turned tail and run at the first sign of Gatsby’s crazy behavior instead chose to stay?  I'll take anything, you know the philosophy in english.  Nobody's opinion is wrong, just some tend to be more right than others,” he said gleefully.

None of his kids rose their hands.  Many of them were half asleep, eager for the coming Thanksgiving Holiday that was just a few weeks away.

Derek smirked.  “Someone who actually read the material better answer, or I’ll rethink my “no homework before a big test” rule. I'm thinking of those analysis essays you all love so much,” he said darkly.

Seven hands shot up immediately.  One hand, in particular, caught his attention.

Shocked, Derek pointed at Danny, who actually had his hand up for once.  He’d been doing better in class lately, mostly thanks to Ethan’s tutoring, but a newfound focus.

“Danny?” Derek asked.

Mr. Mahalani took a deep breath, as if he were about to give a speech to hundreds of people.  “So uh…  Maybe this is crazy, and it wasn’t in Sparknotes, but uh…  There’s something about Nick and Gatsby that makes me think that uh…  Well, you know..  They were…” he said finally huffing.  “I think Nick was in love with Gatsby,” he said.

The classroom went into a low murmur, and a few people laughed, thinking that Danny was kidding.

“Why would you say that?” Derek asked, prodding the boy's mind.

Danny turned away.  “I mean…  It’s written way back when, right?  Like 1920 something?  So a guy Nick’s age should be married, or at least have a girl by then, and he doesn’t.  Instead, he’s focused on his career and his cousin.  The only time he seems happy is when he's around Gatsby,” he said.

“Circumstantial at best, not all men are eager to settle down.  Some men lack sexual or romantic interest at all.  Could it be possible that Nick was merely aesexual?” Derek countered.  Opinions were meant to be challenged.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Danny replied, challenging Derek’s assumption.  He shook his head.    “It’s like you said, why else would Nick stay through all that crap?  Why would he go to Gatsby’s funeral?  If he were just a friend, a really shitty friend mind you, I’d think NIck would be relieved to not be a part of all that illegal crap anymore.  But the damning evidence is the book itself,” he said, sighing as he flipped back to the very first chapter of the book.  “Who writes a book about a man they only knew for a little bit of time? A book that was written in rehab.  A place where they teach you to “move on” and “accept” things as they are.  I think the whole book is NIck accepting the fact that Gatsby is dead, a man that he loved and would never feel love back from.  He's getting over Gatsby, who he himself was a very remarkable, but selfish man,” he said.

“I agree,” Ethan said, as the classroom turned to his attention.  “I mean, Nick was drunk as a duck through most of the book.  Drunk at times where Gatsby is fawning over Daisy, or having fun with Daisy, or having parties to try and get Daisy’s attention.  I know the book is supposed to be about Gatsby’s tragedy in life and creating a living memory, but I mean…  Nick got pretty screwed in all this too.  He ruined his career, got addicted to liquor, and all kinds of other crap.  Still, he loved Gatsby, and I like to think that…  Well, even if Gatsby wasn’t gay, he could have had a good friendship with Nick, the only person in the world that actually cared about him,” he explained.

There was an audible silence as they all turned to Mr. Hale.  The proud teacher who was smiling.

“Now that is the kind of discussion they appreciate in college, well done to both of you, five bonus points each.  Though I’d work on  your hard backup.  Still very circumstantial with little evidence, you need something more to anchor it down, but I like it!  You're thinking outside the box, and that's the most important thing about literature and the arts,” Derek said, looking down to his notes.  "Now, let's talk about Daisy," he said, preparing for the hell that was analyzing that character.

At least, until his cell phone began ringing loudly towards his desk.  Derek recognized the ringtone.  A very plain set of dings from the phone's default ringtone set, but a set of dings that were all Stiles'.

“Miss Argent, why don’t you lead the class in a discussion regarding Daisy and her relationship between Gatsby and her husband.  I’m going to be a hypocrite and answer my cell phone in class, no jokes and I’ll give mercy tonight with your reading,” Derek said, earning a small bout of laughter.  

Jogging to his desk, Derek snagged his cell phone and quickly made himself scarce outside the classroom.

"Hello?" Derek asked, checking his watch.  It was 2 in the afternoon, but Stiles knew by then that Derek wasn't reachable usually until 4.  

"Thank God…  Derek, I need your help,” Stiles exclaimed.  There was a siren going off in the background and loud shuffling and clanking  right next to wherever Stiles was.

Derek’s heart sank.  “Stiles, what’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

He could hear Stiles breathing deeply in the background.  "My mother's in an ambulance with me.  Critical condition, she can barely breath, they don't know if she's going to make it.  My dad is getting a police escort from Parrish," Stiles said, a weak crack in his tone.

Derek's heart lurched.  Claudia Stilinksi was an amazing woman, and Derek already thought of her like a mother.  Even when at her worst, she always managed a smile, and loved Jackson to oblivion and back.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.  What can I do?” Derek said, already making long strides to Isaac’ office.  His friend could watch his class until they got a sub.

A low, sad laugh escaped Stiles’ throat.  “Derek, Jackson’s expecting his birthday extravaganza tonight, and it’s not going to happen.  There’s not anyone to pick him up from school, and I…  I can’t let him just sit there and wait and wait…  He’s done that enough in his life,” he said, his words choking up on him.  There was a loud explosion of what Derek assumed was frantic EMTs helping Claudia.

Derek cringed.  Today was Jackson's birthday, and they'd all been planning a family dinner and party.  A small affair to tide the child over until his actual party in the park on Saturday.

“I’ll get him.  Stiles, don’t worry about Jackson, I’ll get him.  He can stay with me, I’ll do whatever needs done.  Should I tell him?,” Derek said, stopping just outside Isaac’s office.

There was an audible huff.  "Don't lie to him, but...  If you can avoid the whole "impending death" aspect of it all, then that'd be great.  Don’t bring him here, he’d just sit in the waiting room all night and be scared to death.  I…  I’ll call if it gets bad so he can say goodbye,” Stiles answered.

Derek nodded.  “Until then, I’ll try and make his birthday special.  Don’t worry Stiles, you take care of your mother,” he said.

Stiles sighed in relief.  “I will. Thank you Derek, I don’t know what to-”

“Stiles,” Derek said, interrupting his boyfriend’s hyperactive speak that he knew was coming.  “I’ve got Jackson.  He’s in good hands,” he explained.

There was a slow pause on the other end.  “I know he is…  Tell him I love him, okay?” Stiles said.

After a few momentary goodbyes, Derek slammed his phone shut and plotted to call in every favor Isaac owed him.

…

Which unfortunately was -6, but what the hell, he was already in debt, what was one more?

 

++++++++++++++

 

To say Jackson was disappointed that Stiles was going to be “late” to his birthday celebrations would be an understatement.  The initial glee of having Derek pick him up after school wavered in the moments later.

He was still asking endless questions by the time Derek brought him inside “A La Boyd”, the town’s only bakery.  One of his lacrosse kids' father owned it, and it was miles above the local supermarket cakes that were mass produced in the back of some frozen deli aisle.  

Derek and Jackson walked hand-in-hand to the store, hit in the nose with the pleasant smell of that morning's baked treats.

"So...  Grandma had to go see the doctor, and Stiles went with her?" Jackson asked cautiously.  It was the fifth time he'd asked for the confirmation.  Though given the last time a parent went away, Derek had no problem humoring the child.

Nodding, Derek helped Jackson navigate through a crowd of familiar town faces, all waving in his and Derek's direction.  A few hellos were exchanged.

"That's right.  Grandma wasn't feeling good, so Stiles wanted to be really sure she was okay.  He's sorry that he couldn't come get you, but...  Hey, that's why I'm here!  We'll have a great birthday for you together, won't we?  Then this weekend, you'll have the BIG one with all your friends at the park!" Derek said, sincerely hoping that was the case.  Having a birthday party canceled for a funeral tended to be a little on the depressing side of things.  

"But Stiles said today was gonna be...  Just us.  He didn't have to work or nothin'," Jackson pouted, still disappointed.

Derek tried to smile through the knife getting twisted in his gut.  "I'm sorry kiddo, but I'll...  I'll try and make sure we have a good time, okay?  Maybe Stiles can get another day off to have your day real soon, I bet your Uncle Parrish would do that for him, don't you think?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jackson admitted begrudgingly, trusting in the Deputy's kind heart.  

"Awesome," Derek said, finally stepping up to the glass case of ten or so different cakes.  They were a little more formal than what a child might want out of a birthday cake, and were actually meant to be sold by the slice, but he assumed he could get Boyd Senior to sell him a whole one.  "Pick out any cake you'd like, okay?" he said, patting on Jackson's shoulder as he bent down to the child's level.

“Did Stiles not get me a cake?” Jackson asked, pouting in Derek’s direction.

Derek cringed.  They HAD planned Jackson a cake, a nice one with dinosaurs and orange buttercream icing, which was unfortunately supposed to be baked by Claudia that morning.  She’d been adamant about doing it, just like she'd done for Stiles growing up, but that obviously wasn’t a choice now.  

Clearing his throat, Derek shook his head.  “Well, can’t I get you a cake too?  How come Stiles is the only one that’s allowed to get you a cake?  I can't let your Stiles out do me all the time!  And...  You don't want me baking, I once caught cereal on fire,” he said, putting on a polite smile.  The sad part was he wasn't lying about the latter, though the fire part wasn't totally his fault.

That seemed to do the trick, with Jackson smiling eagerly while he laughed at Derek's expense.  “Thank you Derek!” he said, immediately looking into the glass case.  The boy stared for a small eternity, until finally pointing at the brown chocolate dense cake of sugar-death, complete with what Derek assumed with a chocolate flower fudge petal that could put them both into a sugar-induced coma.  “That one!” he exclaimed.

“The Death By Chocolate!  Good choice!” Mr. Boyd said, having popped behind the counter while they weren't looking.

"Hi Boyd's Dad!" Jackson exclaimed, waving at the man.

Boyd Senior chuckled.  "Well well, if it ain't the birthday boy.  I guess you're here getting a cake for the special day!  What are you now..  Sixteen, seventeen?" he teased.

"EIGHT!" Jackson giggled, "correcting" Mr. Boyd's error.

Derek stood up to Mr. Boyd's level.  "Can we buy the whole cake?  Maybe wrap it up and have "happy birthday Jackson" added to it?" he asked.

Boyd Senior seemed insulted.  "Why, if you'd wanted it flambeed, I'd have found a way to do it!  Just a second, I'll get my assistant to do that..." he said, pausing as he bent down to retrieve the cake in question, handing it off to one of Boyd's older brothers that worked in the bakery.

"Hey Jackson, why don't you go to the cookie aisle and Mrs. Boyd will let you pick out a couple to take come.  A big ol' happy birthday from us," Boyd Senior said, winking at the child.

"Really!?" Jackson said, mouth gaping as he looked to Derek for approval.  

He nodded.  "Go on," Derek said, watching as the child sped off to the opposite end of the store, where Boyd's mother was already waiting to help him out.

Derek turned back to Mr. Boyd, whose expression had darkened considerably.

“I heard about Stiles and Claudia.  Cake’s on the house.  Let me know if you guys need anything,” Boyd Senior said, shaking his head sadly.

"Vernon, that's a forty dollar cake, no, I couldn't, I-" Derek attempted to counter, silenced as Mr. Boyd shushed him mid-sentence.

"You hush, you take the damn cake, and you call me if Stiles and John need any help.  Those people are like this town's heart and soul.  Their little grandson already went through hell and back, so let me buy him a little happiness, if only for a night.  You got it?" Vernon said, eyeing Derek seriously.  There was no arguing with that face.

Reluctantly, Derek nodded.  "Thank you.  I appreciate it," he answered.

Vernon chuckled.  "Nah, it ain't nothing.  You're a good man, tryin' to make Jackson's birthday special.  Not many men would do that for someone else's kid.  Then again, he might as well be your kid, am I right?" he said quietly, with a devious smirk.  

Derek let out a contented sigh, turning to watch Jackson grab his bag of cookies from Mrs. Boyd, while also thanking her politely.  He was running back over to Derek's side, raising them up so he could see.  "Look Derek!  Triple chocolate chip cookies and one peanut butter cookie!" he said excitedly.

Huffing as though he were annoyed, Derek shook.

"You're not going to have any teeth left after tonight.  Stiles is going to arrest me for this, you know," Derek said, turning his less-than-serious glare right back at Vernon.  "And you will be my accomplice.  We'll share a cell and Stiles will poke at us through the bars with a stick," he said playfully.

"Nuh uh, Stiles wouldn't do that!  Remember, Grandpa says Stiles would only cuff you to your bed so you couldn't get away!  Then he'd make you get punished so you didn't have to go to jail!" Jackson said innocently.

Derek choked on air, recalling a dinner a few nights back.  Mr. Stilinski had zero filter, and Jackson was a goddamn parrot.  Derek and Stiles were going to have a long talk with the fifty year old kid about appropriate conversations to have around children.

"And that's more than I probably needed to know, gotta love kids," Boyd Senior said, laughing loudly as he boxed up the freshly decorated cake in record time.   He tied a bright red ribbon around the white box, and handed it to Derek over the glass casing.

"Thank you Vernon, I owe you one," Derek said, taking Jackson's hand.

"Have a happy birthday Jackson!" Boyd Senior exclaimed, while the two of them quickly exited the bakery, with what Derek hoped was only a minimal amount of town gossip about his and Stiles' non-existent sex life.

 

+++++++++++++++++++

 

While Derek was ashamed to admit it, neither Stiles or Jackson ever had occasion to come to his home until that evening.  Sure, they had the address, and the Sheirff had come by to pick him up on one or two occasions, but 98% of the time, Derek was over at the Stilinksi home.  There was just so much more life there, with more people and a bigger family.  Stiles' son was there, his parents were there, and his life was there.  

What did Derek have?  A one bedroom apartment in a three story complex with a small kitchen and a living area that also doubled as a dining room and office.  He could fit his entire house into Stiles' first floor, and he banged his head against the roof of his half-bath constantly.

Though it did have a few upsides.

"WHOA.  Your house is AWESOME!" Jackson shouted, barging in after Derek had unlocked his door.  The older man balanced their drive-through stuffed crust supreme pizza of artery clogging "don't you dare tell John I let you eat this garbage" goodness.

Derek sighed.  It was official.  He was too old to be having a bachelor pad apartment if an eight year old thought it was "cool".

Hence the few upsides.  When he'd first designed the furnished house, all he had was a few futons from college, and a couple of bean bags he'd stolen from his roommate.  The desk was found at the yard sale of some art student, hence the whacky design.  Of course, it was also complete with Laura's hand-me-down big screen TV and entertainment system.  He'd been in his early twenties when he first moved in.  Now that he was older, it was probably overdue for a remodel.  Actually, it was due for a remodel in his early twenties, he just never expected to have someone besides himself in the house.

"Cool!" Jackson said, dive-bombing into a bright red bean bag, laughing as he then quickly jumped into the purple one right next to it.

Derek rolled his eyes, smiling at how much fun kids could find in even the smallest things.  

"So...  What would you like to do first?  Dinner?  Cake?  Present?  Movie?  TV?  Anything you'd like, we can do!" Derek announced.  He'd offered to drive the kid to the park, or even to the arcade just outside of town that was a Chuck-E-Cheese lawsuit waiting to happen.  Jackson had declined both, wanting to go back to Derek's place for food instead.

Half-flopping between both bean bags, Jackson thought hard for several moments.  "Pizza!" he exclaimed.

"Coming right up then," Derek announced, dropping all of the food and desserts on his kitchen counters.  He grabbed a couple of paper plates and began plopping the grease-ridden pizza on top of them, while also turning on his coffee machine.

Jackson had popped up right beside him, and Derek handed him the bigger of the two slices.  "What would you like to drink?  I've got water, gatorade, water, instant tea, water, and...  Well, that's about it," Derek said, mentally cursing himself for not getting Jackson any sodas.  Though the crap wasn't really good for anyone.

He watched Jackson's eyes move to the instant coffee already brewing on the counter.

"Can I have some?" Jackson asked.

Derek rose an eyebrow.  "Is it the weekend?" he asked, knowing full and well Stiles' rule on coffee.  He might have been sympathetic, if he hadn't actually seen a caffine riddled Jackson on a weekend prior, literally bouncing off the couches and once into the wall.

Jackson frowned.  "Please?  It's my birthday, that's kind of like a weekend!" he pleaded.

Sighing, because honestly the kid had a point, Derek nodded reluctantly.  He figured Stiles would be okay with it, given the extreme circumstances.  "Lots of milk and sugar, right?" he asked.

"YEAH!" Jackson exploded, letting little chunks of pizza spit out of his mouth in the process.

Before Derek could contemplate if it were appropriate to serve Jackson a teaspoon of coffee in a glass of milk and not be lying, he felt his phone buzzing at his hip.  Those same set of dings he'd heard just a few hours earlier.

Slowly, Derek grabbed his phone and answered it.

"How is she?" Derek asked immediately.

There was a slow sigh on the other end.  "She's in the critical unit.  Mom stopped breathing for a few minutes, but...  She's still with us.  Dad's in there with her, I'm in the waiting room, and the doctors are running tests, and I...  I need to talk to Jackson.  Is he okay?  Does he hate me?" he said in quick succession.  Derek knew what that hyperactive tone meant.  Stiles was lost deep in his head, trying to keep talking in order to make the problems go away.

"Jackson is fine Stiles, we're eating pizza and Mr. Boyd got us a cake that John isn't allowed to even look at.  I've rented just about every classic Disney movie under the sun and we're going to have a marathon.  I'm also giving him coffee, so there goes my cleaning deposit," Derek said, trying to keep his tone bright.  Talking about Claudia was probably too painful for the man.

"mmfmadfmadfmfmmuhSTILES" Jackson said, trying to talk with his mouth full.  

Derek heard the other end let out a painful laugh.  Stiles was in pain, but at least had a sense of humor.  "Don't let him watch Hercules, it makes him cry when Michael Bolton sings.  Can I talk to him?" he asked.

"Of course.  Jackson, it's Stiles," Derek said, handing his cell phone to Jackson, who clamored to grab it.

"Hi Stiles!" Jackson said, listening intensely in Derek's cell phone.  He watched the child's face maintain its usual happy stance when Stiles was around.  In the months that he'd been with Stiles, he'd watched Jackson truly come to love the man more than he already did.  Those eyes and that face saw Stiles as more than just an Uncle.  That was the kind of face a child gave to a parent.

"Yeah, Derek's place is so COOL.  He's got bean bags and a big TV and he got me a cake 'cuz he says that you can't be the only one being awesome all the time!  Derek got me pizza for dinner too!" Jackson said, already moving to the dining table and sitting down.

Trying not to be nosy, Derek busied himself with a few things.  He got himself a black cup of coffee, while turning Jackson's into a near-creamy brown.  Slowly, he placed Jackson's cup in front of the child, and moved to pull out the cake from the box.  

By the time he had the cake poked with eight white candles, and had served himself a few slices of pizza.  He joined Jackson at the table, where the boy's smile hadn't faded in the slightest.

"Okay Stiles.  Yes Stiles...  Okay...  Yes, I'll be good Stiles, I promise!  Okay... Okay...  Derek, Stiles wants to talk to you again!" Jackson said, reluctantly handing the phone back over to Derek.

"Hey," Derek said, pausing to smile as Jackson slowly sipped at his coffee, cringing at the taste.  Apparently, he needed more cream, but the boy would never probably admit it.

"So apparently my son has a crush on your apartment.  Should I be worried about him deserting me?" Stiles said, choking on his words in a mixture of a sob and laughter.

Derek bit his lip.  "I figure he'd desert right back, apparently my coffee isn't just right," he said, as Jackson stuck out his toungue on his second taste.  He pushed the coffee right away, going back to his pizza.

"Derek...  Thank you, I-...  I knew there was a reason I called you first.  I knew you could...," Stiles said, laughing under his breath as he couldn't find the words.

"Because you don't have any A, B, or Cs in your phone contacts?" Derek joked.

"No, because Amy scares children and Beatrice thinks she's dating the Archduke Ferdinand," Stiles replied, breathing heavily as he tried to keep laughing.  He figured it was all Stiles could do, either laughing or crying.  At least he was laughing.

The two just silently let the air speak volumes for a few moments.  Neither said a word, only their breath being shared between each other.

Stiles was the first to break, letting out a short chortle.  "Thanks for trying to make Jackson's birthday special.  Thanks for taking care of him tonight, I...  Thank you," he sighed.

"Stiles, anytime.  Do you want to talk about her?" Derek asked.

"No," Stiles answered immediately.  The answer was curt.  "I'm...  I'm going to try and sleep, I haven't been in bed in over a day, and I'm about to pass out waiting for the doctors.  I'll be here in the waiting room, call me if there's any trouble, okay?" he said.

"I will," Derek answered.  

With that, they said their goodbyes, and Derek immediately switched his phone into texting mode.  He pulled up Natalie Martin's contact information and started typing a text.  Out of everyone he knew, she was the one most likely to bring Stiles a change of clothes and a pillow.  She'd be in and out, knowing better than anyone that Stiles wanted to be alone.

"Hey Derek?  Is Dad-....  Is Stiles okay?" Jackson asked, fumbling over the words as his face flushed in embarrassment.

Derek took a deep breath.  "He's scared right now.  Grandma Claudia is his mommy, so...  He doesn't like seeing his mommy sick," he answered.

"I don't either," Jackson answered, shifting nervously in his seat.  "Dad-...  Stiles said he'll try to come home tonight, but he doesn't know cuz Grandma is in the hospital again.  Is Grandma that sick?" he asked.

It took a moment, but Derek nodded.  "You remember what Stiles said about cancer?  Well, it just makes people really sick sometimes, because they get sick easier.  The doctors are just trying to make her all better."

"Is grandma gonna die?" Jackson asked, as a stray tear or two fell down his face.  He tried to wipe them away so Derek didn't see.

" _If she does, I'm filing a formal complaint with God and will do everything in my power to make a holy lawsuit happen,"_ Derek thought to himself, shaking away the thought.  "Well...  You know your Grandma...  It's gonna take a lot for some dirty ol' germs to get the best of her.  I bet they're runnin' scared right now," he said instead, trying to put a positive spin on things.

That seemed to force a short lived smile on Jackson's face.  Though, he still looked fairly distraught.

Sighing, Derek looked around him, trying to think of something to say or do to make things better.  

It was then that he spotted the cake, and a striking smile hit him on the face.

"How about we light some candles and you make a wish?" Derek said.

Jackson's face shot up, and he wiped the snot from his nose.  "Huh?"

Derek was already up on his feet, moving to the cake and taking it from the counter to put it right in front of Jackson.  "Well, now seems like the perfect time.  You know what they say about birthday candles!  If you blow them out and make a wish, it might just come true!  Maybe you could make a wish for Grandma Claudia." he said lively.  

Sniffing back, Jackson eyed Derek seriously.  "Really?"

Nodding, Derek was already grabbing a box of matches out from his kitchen drawer.  He struck one, and slowly began lighting each and every one.  "Yep.  Now I'm not saying it's a guarantee, because wishes are very tricky little things and magic doesn't always work like we want it to, but...  Well, it's magic, who can really explain magic?" he offered.  

Sure, it wasn't the truth.  Derek knew those damn candles didn't do jack shit.  Just like Santa Claus didn't ride a sleight, and the Easter Bunny didn't shit out eggs in hiding spots.  But to hell if they did or didn't.  Kids deserved a little magic in their lives.  

Jackson deserved some childhood innocence.  He'd had enough of the truth all the time.  Derek would never lie to the kid, but he wasn't going to make the child into the bitter old man that he'd turned into.  No, Jackson could have his magic.  Even if it didn't work, and even if Claudia died, he deserved a little hope in his life.  The boy deserved a lot.  He wanted to give it to him.

Eight little candles all lit with tiny flames danced in front of Jackson.  The boy looked at them so expectantly, as if they really were magic.  They needed to be magic.  Derek WILLED the magic into them, or else.  Everyone, especially his students, knew better than to chance "or else".

After a rousing rendition of tone-death "happy birthday" in Spanish, much to Jackson's delight, Derek patted the child on the back.  "Okay, make a wish and blow them out," he offered.

With the lung capacity of an Elephant, Jackson blew them out in a furious breath, all of them extinguished with wisps of smoke.

"When does the wish work?" Jackson asked, the first words immediately out of his mouth.

Derek shrugged.  "You can't rush magic.  So you might as well enjoy your cake and wait for it patiently.  Then we can watch movies.  How about...  Aladdin?  Robin Williams is good for helping you be happier," he said happily, pulling out the candles from the cake.

Slowly, Jackson nodded.  "Okay.  I hope it's FAST though," he announced.

"Me too...  Me too," Derek said, slicing into the cake with a large knife.  

Jackson smiled, thinking back just moments ago.  He'd pleaded with his cake.   _“I wish grandma gets better soon.  And...  If I get another wish, 'cuz it is my birthday, then I wish Derek was my daddy like Stiles."_

+++++++++++++++++

Four Disney movies later, and it was very obvious that he had a sleepy post sugar rush child on his hands.  As much as he hated to make the child go to bed, it had to be done.  Stiles had texted him from the ICU, informing him that they were still running tests and doing breathing treatments.  So no change, he couldn't leave, she was still critical.  But still alive, thank God.

Unfortunately, Derek's babysitter game was weak by 11 PM.  It was only after Jackson was inside of the shower that Derek realized a painfully annoying fact.  Jackson had no clothes in his house, and the clothes he'd had on was covered in pizza sauce and chocolate cake syrup.  He'd been so caught up in the child's birthday festivites that he'd forgotten to go by the house to get the child his things.  Not that he could have gotten in, the house was locked, but the fact stayed.

Considering that a naked child was probably not the best thing to have running around his house and a possible flu waiting to happen, he begrudgingly went and pulled out a bucket of clothes he'd hidden in the back.  Stuff from high-school, stuff he grew out of in college but never had the occasion to actually throw away.  He'd chucked them outside the bathroom and waited in his bedroom, pulling the freshly laundered sheets on the bed and fluffing his pillows.  

He glanced around, sighing thankfully.  Derek's bedroom was plain.  Just a closet, a bookcase, a bed with thick black sheets, and the fluffiest pillows he could afford.  Unlike Isaac, he didn't have things that could scar children emotionally and psychologically hiding under his bed. No, he was boring.  His sexy days ended about two years after college.

The door creaked behind him, and he could hear bare footsteps padding behind him.

"Uh...  Derek...  I don't think they fit," Jackson said.

Turning around, Derek snorted.  The smallest T-shirt he had went all the way down to Jackson's knees.  The pajama bottoms were worse, with half the leg space trailing down his feet, though thankfully fit around the waist once the cord in the middle had been tightened considerably.  Though the funniest part was Jackson's hair, which had been spiked up, clearly not brushed in the slightest.

"Sorry...  I've always been big," Derek said, moving over to Jackson's side.  He bent down to Jackson's level, and tried to brush out his hair with his hands.  Quickly, he also rolled up the sleeves of the pajama pants to be more wearable and not be such a trip hazard.  The t-shirt?  Well, it might as well have been a dress, there was no fixing that.

Jackson yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes.  "I don't wanna go to bed.  I'm not sleepy," he whined, eyes already fluttering shut as he said it.

"Sure, and John loves the string bean salad Stiles makes," Derke joked, guiding Jackson to his bed.  The child didn't even fight him when Derek lifted him off the floor and flopped him on the bed.

"Any bedtime rules I should know about?  Do you want the light on?" Derek asked.

Jackson nodded, leaning up against the headboard.  "Light on," he asked quietly.

Derek turned over to his bedside dresser, switching on the table light.  It was a tad brighter than a nightlight, but should hopefully serve the same purpose.

"Stiles missed my birthday," Jackson said, pouting as he glanced at Derek's glowing alarm clock.  

Derek held back a sigh.  It really wasn't fair for Jackson or Stiles.  Fate just loved kicking them in the ground, didn't they?

Though he couldn't tell a child that.

"Well..  I guess you'll just get two birthdays then," Derek offered, pulling his covers over Jackson and attempting a goofy smile.

"Nuh uh.  Can I?" Jackson asked eagerly, his face suddenly much brighter.

Derek nodded.  "You sure can!  Today you got to have a "Derek" Birthday.  Tomorrow or maybe sometime soon, we'll let you have the much better and lot more fun "Stiles" Birthday.  Really, I think it's for the best.  Stiles couldn't possibly combine that much fun into just one day," he explained.  Which, in honesty, Stiles probably couldn't.  The man's ridiculously long list of birthday plans was something to be done over a week's span, not a day.

"Cool!" Jackson said, fideting excitedly.  At least, until he grabbed Derek's hand as the adult started to stand up.

"What?" Derek asked, spotting the subtle change in the child's previously cheerful demeanor.

Jackson chewed on his bottom lip.  

"My mommy and daddy are in heaven...  Do you think they knew it was my birthday today?" the boy asked.

Derek's heart sank, immediately plopping back down to Jackson's side.  Kids shouldn't have to worry about things like death and angels or the afterlife.  Adults don't even know how to deal with it, how are kids supposed to?  

Though...  He did know exactly what to say.

"If there was any way for your Daddy to know it was your birthday, I bet he and your mommy were singing all day long.  Maybe my mom was singing with them!" Derek said, putting his arm around Jackson as the boy slid closer to him.

"I miss them," Jackson said, leaning into Derek's side.  "Do you still miss your mommy too?"

He hadn't thought of her in a long time.  Talia Hale was a good woman, a strong woman.  But that's all she was.  She wasn't a mother, never had the kind of nurturing streak that Stiles had.  Laura was more of a mother.  Though if he were honest, he'd always hoped to have a relationship with his mother at some point.  Aging did that to him.  Made him long for things he never had.  The bitter things he yelled at his mother as a teenager hurt him now.  He couldn't take those things back now, or tell her why he said those things.  

Derek even wished his father was still alive.  If only to kick him in the balls.

"Yeah.  I do," Derek answered quietly.

Jackson pouted.  "Am I gonna miss them forever and ever?  Till I'm old like you?" he asked.

Ignoring the implied age joke, Derek sighed.  "Yeah.  Yeah, you probably will," he said, smiling as he patted Jackson's shoulder and pulled him in tightly.  "But you know what?  You might miss them, but you'll find people to help you smile again.  People like Stiles.  People like your grandma and grandpa.  It's okay to have fun, just like it's okay to miss them.  Sunrise, sunset," he explained.  

Jackson yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open.  "I don't get it," he mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.   

Derek chuckled.  "Because you're so sleepy!  Come on, into bed kiddo.  It's way past your bedtime, your dad is going to skin me alive," he said, releasing their hug and helping the child shift down into the covers.  Jackson laid his head down on Derek's massive pillow, swamped in the fluff of it.

"I wanna stay up for Stile-s..." Jackson whined, his protest falling on deaf ears.  His eyes were slipping in and out of consciousness.

"I'll tell him to come give you a good night kiss when he gets in.  Now go to sleep and have sweet dreams.  Think about all the fun you'll get to have on your Stiles Birthday," Derek said, patting the child's head as he made his way out of the bedroom.  "Good night Jackson," he said, flipping off the light to the room and just leaving his desk lamp on for the child's comfort.

"Good night Derek.  I love you," Jackson muttered, already half asleep as the words left his lips.

As Derek shut the door behind him, he caught those words, stopping the door.  He smiled.  "Love you too kiddo.  Sweet dream," he said, refusing to let the manly tears start flowing.  At least until he was downstairs where he knew Jackson couldn't hear him.

He would drown them out with death by chocolate.

++++++++++++++

Stiles wouldn't pull into Derek's apartment until 2 in the morning.  The banging on the front door would wake Derek from the couch, and likely several of his neighbors.  He'd get calls.  They'd get the eyebrows of doom.

Rushing to the front door in nothing but his pajama pants, Derek didn't even bother to check through the peep hole.  He swung open the door, and was met with Stiles.  Still in full uniform, the poor man had dark circles under his eyes, but the tiniest speck of a smile.

"Stiles...  How is she?" Derek asked, pulling his boyfriend inside and shutting the door behind them.

Yawning, Stiles didn't hesitate to strip off his belt, carefully unholster his weapon, and throw his overshirt and badge off.  All done with a little more "oomph" than was probably necessary.

"Mom pulled through," Stiles said breathlessly, flopping on the couch while he rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "Just...  Just a bad case of pneumonia.  Her immune system is shot to hell, so...  It hit her hard.  She is going to be in there for a while.  Doctors say the worst is over and she should recover soon.  Breathing treatments.  Blah.  Blah.  She's okay.  Mom's okay, and I...  I'm so fucking tired, where is Jackson?  I've got to get him home and-" he said, silenced as Derek rubbed a firm hand on his back.  His spoke hastily, trying to keep going as his eyes fluttered.

"Stiles, breathe.  You guys can stay the night.  Come on, I promised him you'd kiss him when you got in.  You can sleep with him, the bed's big enough for two," Derek said.

Nodding sleepily, Stiles yawned as Derek led him through the living area and into the bedroom.  

Where Jackson had somehow contorted himself on the opposite end of the bed, snoring like a little train, the sheets halfway off the bed, and the other half tangled in his upper body.

"Oh my God...  That is...  Oh hell, I've got to get a picture of this, this is embarrassing Senior year scrapbook shit right here," Stiles said with a soft chuckle, pulling out a smartphone.  He snapped dozens of pictures of Jackson in the oversized clothing, before laughing himself.  "He must have had the kickboxing dream again...  One he got me square in the jaw, I swear he nearly broke it," he said, taking a deep breath.  

Stiles made his way over to Jackson's side, slowly adjusting his son back to a semi-normal sleeping position.  He pressed a kiss on his temple, before stretching out and walking back towards Derek.  "You up for some coffee?  I...  I need to talk for a bit, about anything other than....  Anything," he said quietly.

Derek nodded, and put his hand around Stiles' waist.  He led him to the couch, letting Stiles immediately collapse on it, ass-up.

"I'm not going into work tomorrow.  Jackson can stay home from school too.  Also, Jesus, this couch is so much better than the waiting room chairs.  I love your couch Derek, its over between us," Stiles said, rambling through this thoughts.  

Silently, Derek decided that caffeine wasn't what Stiles actually needed.  He instead grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, and the box of what little pizza was leftover.  Stiles was likely starving.

"But your place is like some college frat house.  Seriously, who decorated your house?  I need to shoot them, this is offensive," Stiles grumbled.  

Derek placed the pizza and water on the table in front of Stiles, plopping down beside his boyfriend.  He rubbed Stiles' back, trying to massage it as best he could.  The poor man's muscles were wound tightly.  

"You fed Jackson pizza from Freddy's?  You realize that place had like some sort of serial killer in it once, right?  Plus, that weird ass bear freaks me out," Stiles said, sighing loudly.  He shook his head.  "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Derek countered.

Stiles laughed.  "I wish I had a big brother, or a big sister, or someone else to help me with all of this shit.  Then I wouldn't be at my boyfriend's at two in the morning, bitching like I did in high school with the annoying sarcasm I hate most.  I wouldn't have spent the last six hours sobbing, or trying to console my father.  I'd have someone to cry with...  Someone to have that fear of losing my mother with..  Someone to think about what would happen if we needed funeral services, and...  God today sucked, and I screwed up my son's birthday.  I'm just...  I'm so fucking tired Derek.  I'm tired of being "the strong one", I'm tired of being "the sheriff's kid", and I'm tired of being...  Tired," he said quietly.  His words were cold and flat.

"It's understandable," Derek explained, helping Stiles pull off his extra layers of clothing.  

In just his t-shirt and boxers, Stiles grabbed a pillow and crashed his head into it.  He stared at the pizza and water, shaking his head.

"Is that awful of me?  Holy fuck I'm just...  I'm terrible," Stiles said, crashing his head on the couch with an audible thump.

Derek shook his head.  "Stiles, you've put your life on hold for nearly a year and a half now for your parents and for your child.  It's natural to feel that way every now and then.  Not everyone can stay that way forever without breaking, it's just not in us," he said, taking Stiles' foot in his hand and gently kneading the soles.  

"But I know you Stiles...  I know that tomorrow morning, you'll be back at that hospital to visit with your mother, probably take Jackson, and then spend your day with your son.  It's okay to complain, and...  Anytime you need to vent, I'm right here for you," Derek said, patting Stiles' feet.  

Stiles was dead quiet, his face buried in a pillow.

"If I can suggest something?  Take a week off work and recover with your mother, spend time with your son, and let Parrish handle things for a while.  Quit trying to be superman.  You're not, and you'll break if you don't take it easy every now and again," Derek said quietly, taking a deep breath.  He was waiting to go into a long rant, stopped as he heard Stiles laughing into the pillow.

Stiles pulled himself up, eyes meeting Derek's.  "Oh my God...  Oh my fucking God..." he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What?" Derek asked, genuinely concerned.

"I love you.  That's what this feeling is.  I fucking love you," Stiles said, slamming his head into Derek's chest.  

He was crying, keeping that strong smile on his face, laughing the entire time.  

"I love you so much Derek, you're so...  So good to me, my son, my family, and...  I don't know what I'd have done without you tonight.  This is the point where most guys would run off a cliff to get away from me.  You realize we've dated for like three months and haven't had sex?  We barely get to make out.  You get none of my action, and yet here you are!  I call you in the middle of work, and you're coming to get my son and give him a birthday party for two.  You get up at 2 AM to console me while I'm bitching.  I...  Holy fuck I love you Derek Hale," Stiles said, pressing a deep kiss into Derek's lips.  

They didn't separate for a while after that.  Hard, furious, passionate kissing.  Hands gripping around each other's waists as Stiles straddled Derek's lap.  

Derek came up for air, smiling

"I love you too," Derek said, running his hand through Stiles' hair.  He held his love tightly against his chest, kissing his head.  "I love you, your smile, your strength, I love Jackson, I love your parents, and I love your friends and cop family.  You gave me a family, you gave me a purpose in life, you got me back into the passion of teaching, made me realize how much I love kids, and...  God you're perfect, amazing, strong, and...  I love you...  I love you so much," he said, pulling Stiles and himself back down to the couch.

They held each other in their arms, Derek allowing his chest to become a pillow.  

Derek pecked kisses into Stiles' neck and lips, slowly massaging just about every inch of his body.  He pulled a blanket over them eventually, wrapping them up in a loving warmth.

Stiles let up on the kisses he kept peppering on Derek's lips.  He twisted his mouth for a few moments, until he let out a huff and landed one more tight kiss on Derek, nibbling at his lip.

"Marry me," Stiles whispered.

Derek felt his stomach flip.  An icy flip of joy, surprise, and...  Downright glee.

"I don't care how long it takes, or...  Even if we have to wait on my mom...  Just...  Just promise to marry me.  Marry me Derek, marry me, and let's be a family.  I don't care that it's just been a few months, fuck that.  We're old enough to know what's real and what's superficial.  This is real Derek...  I want you as my husband, and I want you as Jackson's father.  So...  Marry me," Stiles said.

It took all of a moment for Derek to consider everything.

"Yes...  Yes, I'll marry you," Derek said, pulling Stiles closer until they might as well have been one gigantic pancake of love.

He wasn't sure what happened after that.  There were kisses, there was touching and groping, and eventually there was just silence.  Heartbeats thumping next to each other, a few tears, and one final contented sigh as they both fell into a warm sleep with each other.

+++++++

Derek smiled as he walked into his kitchen, fresh off the phone with Isaac.  His friend would sub for him until things calmed down.  Which his kids probably appreciated, considering the nightmare fuel of a pop quiz he would have given them otherwise.  He could actually picture their faces when Isaac walked in, and the parade they were likely giving in his honor.

His smile, however, was more defined by the sight in front of him.

In his younger days, "sexy" was definied as full frontal nudity, and maybe a little more leather and kink than was probably necessary. The sight before him, however, was something straight out of left field that he'd never even considered as a perversion.

Domestic fluff kink.  It was real and it was HARD.  Or maybe that was just him that was hard.

Stiles, like Jackson, had borrowed one of his t-shirts.  A shirt that was ill fitting, going down to right below his groin.  He'd even snagged a pair of Derek's  boxers, struggling to keep them on his thinner waistline, where they sagged ever so slightly.  Stiles' hair was messy from the couch he and Derek had shared that night.

All of that was sat on Derek's kitchen countertop, waiting impatiently for the coffee to brew.  So much concentrated sexy that Derek was ever so glad he'd opted for long pajama pants.  They tended to hide erections well if you adjusted your feet properly.

"Mornin'" Stiles said, smiling sweetly as he stretched out into the air.  "I don't mean to complain, but...  Your couch is worse than the air mattress.  When I go to the chiropractor, I'm blaming you and your sexy abs.  I'm sure there's a medical code for that somewhere," he said jokingly.

Derek moseyed over to Stiles, planting a chaste kiss on his boyfri-...  Fiance's lips.  He needed to go grab Stiles a ring, but figured that could wait until Claudia was well enough to appreciate an official engagement party.  Maybe they'd wait till Thanksgiving.  Or a time that Laura and Peter and his family could come.  

Though there was one little loudmouth who would probably blab immediately.  A sleepy little loudmouth that was groggily making his way into the kitchen.

"Mornin' Jackson," Derek said, his heart leaping at the fact that...  

He had a son.  Or was going to have a son.  Someone who was going to be his son in a small amount of time, if he had any say in it.  The fact was slowly melting his brain and ability to compose proper sentences.

"Sleepy," Jackson whined, banging his head against Derek's waist.  

"Mornin'" Stiles said, waving from the countertop.

"DAD!" Jackson yelled, becoming very awake, very quickly.  He leapt up into Stiles' arms, where the Sheriff was quick to hug him as tightly as he could.

"Oh Jax...  I'm so sorry about yesterday...  Grandma's feeling a little better now, and...  She wants to see you sweetheart, if you want to go visit her," Stiles said.

Derek chuckled.  Claudia had called Stiles first thing in the morning, waking them up at the crack of dawn.  She was very awake and very concerned about seeing her Jackson and wishing him a belated happy birthday.

"Yes!  I wanna go see Grandma!  Can we go right now?  Please?!  Please please please?!" Jackson begged, nearly strangling Stiles with his arms in a hug.  

Stiles nodded.  "Yes we sure can.  Then we'll go do whatever you want to do, we'll go get your presents at home, and then take you to dinner wherever you want.  Then we can...  Then we can talk about...  About Derek and our new family...  Everything," he said, hugging back just as tightly.

Slowly, Derek moved over towards them.  Though he might have felt like an outsider before, he had no problem pulling the both of them off the counter, into his arms, and hugging them tightly.

Hugging _**his** _ family.

"Dad?  How come Derek's crying?" Jackson whispered quietly.

"Derek and I will tell you why later," Stiles answered, crying right along with his fiance.

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a short distraction when I didn't feel like writing th eother story. I have no idea how it turned into something this long! D:   
> (Though the FEELS. I start writing and can't stop!)
> 
> Now I need to think of what's going to follow this for my next side story. Suggestions or prompts are always welcome! :3


	5. Chapter 5

Things got better for the Stilinski family after Claudia’s trip to the hospital.

Having recovered by Thanksgiving, Claudia was able to enjoy a warm Thanksgiving dinner with her family.  Derek, John, and Jackson passed out on the couch watching football after the dinner, only to be awoken by a piercing shriek when Claudia _**finally**_ saw the ring on Stiles’ left hand.  It had been there a week, as he and Derek played the “waiting” game to see who noticed first.

After that, they finally shared the news with everyone involved.

Jackson took the news like a child at Christmas opening up a box with a brand new video game system in it.  He hugged “Dad”, and then quickly hugged “Dad” in quick succession.  Despite their many attempts to find another male noun alternative to father for him to use, Jackson was insistent on the both being “Dad”.  Because that wouldn't get confusing in the slightest.  

Laura choked on the phone hearing the news, having to take a solid five minutes to get back to breathing normally.  She then screamed hysterically and sobbed at Derek for thirty minutes in a mixture of anger and sorrow, only to finish out the last twenty minutes of their phone call spent glowering at the fact she was an aunt.  The reaction was partly the pregnancy hormones in her last week before birth, but mostly because she didn’t even know Derek was dating.  He really needed to call her more often.

The Police Department, unsurprisingly, threw a massive surprise party in the station annex, complete with party poppers, beer, and one very teary-eyed Jordan Parrish who gave a drunken speech professing his joy for one of the best men in the force finally finding his happiness.  There were a few too many “i love you man”s being shared, but otherwise was a touching moment.  

Then came December.  Derek had a remarkable turnout for his semester tests, and at least 90% of all seven of his classes passing, with 70% of that having Bs or higher.  

By the time he was on Christmas break, Derek was on Cloud 18.  Because one Cloud 9 just wasn’t enough.

Sprawled out on the Stilinski couch with Jackson to his side, they’d watched the Peanuts Christmas special for the ninth time in four days.  Stiles would be off work shortly, and they all planned to go out Christmas Shopping for Grandma and Grandpa.  

Derek himself needed to buy his nieces and nephews a few items as well.  He regretted waiting until a week before Christmas, but they’d all be caught up with wedding plans and trying to figure out living arrangements.

The heat in the Stilinski home was on full blast, the warm air letting sleep dance over them quietly.  

“Hey Dad?” Jackson asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Derek responded, eyes fluttered in half-sleep.

Jackson squirmed nervously in the couch.  “Do you think your big sister will like me?  She’s my aunt, right?” he asked.

Derek chuckled with a small grin.  “Jackson, she is going to adore you.  Also, I would cover your cheeks or she’s likely to pinch them into nothingness,” he explained.

Surprise covered Jackson’s bright eyes, and he laughed as he covered his cheeks.

"When do they get here?" Jackson asked.

"In a few days with your Uncle Kyle and Great Uncle Peter.  You'll get to meet your little cousins too.  Cora, Celia, Cinder, Carter, and Cole are all very excited to meet you.  Though the girls will probably just want to play tea party with you.  If they pull out the makeup kids, just run with Carter and Cole for your sweet life," Derek said, recalling the last time he'd been forced into one of Queen Cora's royal tea parties.  He'd left with enough rogue to outdo Miss Piggy.

Jackson huffed.  "That girl stuff is boring.  Lydia makes me play tea party after we play lacrosse in the backyard.  Then she wants to play house, so I have to play with the baby dolls while she gets to be the doctor," he announced bitterly.    

Derek chuckled.  Jackson had been a playdate of Lydia Martin's pretty much every other day since Christmas Break started and begrudgingly admitted Lydia was his best friend.  Though even before that, he was a frequent guest on the weekends.  Considering Claudia's health, Lydia never actually came over to their house very often, but Derek was oft their chaperone with Natalie while on trips to the movies.

Still, if Jackson actually thought the playtime was boring, he would have said so by this point.

"Oh.  So maybe you should start hanging out with Boyd at his house?  Or how about Greenburg?" Derek offered playfully.

"No!" Jackson shot back, scoffing at the very idea.  "Greenburg just wants to play video games all day, and Boyd just talks about Erica all the time!  Lydia and I have fun outside, even if we have to do the girly stuff afterwards," he admitted.  The child then folded his arms.  "And I gotta get better at playing, cuz that doo-doo head Lydia is NOT gonna be better than me," Jackson added adamantly.

Derek rolled his eyes.  The child was still bitter about Lydia getting "MVP of the Year" from Ethan during the fall, despite the fact that Jackson got awarded "Best Sportsmanship", which was ultimately ironic given the current conversation.

"We can practice together when it gets warmer.  Stiles can help us out too," Derek said, smiling at the thought of actually picking up a stick again.  The cold weather was never good for him, he hated the indoors.  Stiles and Jackson were, thankfully, the same way.

Though Jackson cringed at the idea.  "Dad...  You know Dad can't play good.  Remember when he tried to be goalie for us?" he asked.

Derek cringed right alongside his son.  Stiles had the athletic grace of a bull in a fine china shop, and the coordination of a blind bat in a soundproof room.

"Okay...  So we can practice and Stiles can just sit and not do anything," Derek corrected.

They both laughed at Stiles' expense, cut off by the sound of Derek's phone buzzing on the coffee table.  He picked it up and inspected the new text message.

 

_Going to be late.  Still working with game and fish, Parrish is really pushing us on closing this wild animal case.  I promised him another hour until the sun goes down, sorry but I owe the guy.  Meet me at the mall, I'll call when I get there.  Tell Jax I love him!  You're okay too beefcake._

 

Derek rolled his eyes.  He wasn't sure where the nickname had come from, but Stiles seemed fond of it as a pet name  "You're just okay right back," he said to himself, typing out a reply message to confirm their plans.

"Was that Dad?" Jackson asked.

Derek nodded.

“Dad’s going to be late getting home.  He said to go ahead and go shopping and he'll meet us at the mall,” Derek said, closing his phone.  "So how about you and I use this time for the secret mission.  We'll go buy him that scarf and sweater you picked out for him, and hide it in the one place he'd never look!" he said deviously.

Jackson beamed.  "Yeah, we’ll hide it in grandpa’s secret sweet stash!  Can I wrap it?"

"Remember you trying to wrap Lydia's birthday present last week?" Derek replied, in a non-judgemental, but totally judgemental statement.

Cringing, Jackson nodded.  "Can I wrap it and you help me?" he corrected.

"Yes, I believe I can do that," Derek said, as they both lazily struggled to get off the very comfortable couch.  He grabbed their nearly empty mugs of hot chocolate from earlier.  "Go get on your shoes and jacket, I'll be there in a second," he instructed.

"Yes Dad," Jackson replied, rushing over to the front door, where his new red and white nikes were proudly sitting.  Derek had long since decided that the child's obsession with cartoon velcro shoes needed to be corrected, and brought him the laced shoes for his birthday.  Because honestly, Stiltes had no sense of style.  

"Can you tie them by yourself?" Derek asked from the kitchen, running water into the mugs and cleaning them out before popping them inside the dishwasher.  

"YES DAD, GOSH," Jackson replied angrily.  

Derek shrugged.  He'd have to re-tie them eventually, but if Jackson wanted to do it himself, more power to him.

Making his way up the staircase, Derek took a deep breath.  Softly walking across the carpet, he stopped at Claudia and John's room.  Derek knocked quietly.

"Come in," Claudia answered immediately.

Derek swung the door open, met with the very bland (and very tidy) room for Claudia and John.  Antique furniture from their family's past lined the room, with an old model television set sitting on a dresser.  A Christmas special was on, that they'd probably been watching until John's gentle snoozing on the bed.

Claudia was wrapped up in a quilt, setting her book to the side.  The woman's color was finally back, though the dark circles under her eyes were telling of the greater struggle with the cancer treatments.  Just a few more months and they'd be able to do surgery.  At least, that was the plan.  

While not an overly religious man by any stretch, Derek still prayed fervently for some supernatural being to make sure that happened.  Claudia was sick of being sick and sick of not working.  She wanted to move on with her life, and Derek didn't blame her.  Being bedridden was not fun.

"Sorry to bother you, I'm taking Jackson to the mall.  We're meeting up with Stiles there, so call us if you need anything," Derek explained.

Claudia smiled.  "Thank you Derek.  Actually, if you have a minute?" she said, struggling to shift her body off the bed and holding onto the dresser for support as she walked.

Moving to her side, Derek offered his arm to her, which she took.  He led behind her, where she made her way over to the dresser that the TV was sat upon.  Claudia opened a drawer, pulling out a small white envelope that she handed to Derek.

"It's not much money, we don't exactly have the luxury of that right now...  But if you could buy something nice for Stiles, John, and Jackson with that, I would appreciate it.  I'm just not up to getting out of the house anymore, and John picks terrible presents," Claudia said, laughing quietly.

Derek nodded.  He knew better than to offer to pay for them, Claudia had more pride than that.  He also knew that what was in that envelope was enough to buy something nice, but also not be a financial burden to their family.  "I'd love to.  Anything in particular that John likes?" he asked, assisting Claudia back to the bed.  

She climbed in, with a little more "kick" than he'd expected, and covered her body back up with the warm blankets.  "Something warm, like a jacket.  With him going back to work, I don't want him catching a cold in that drafty office.  I swear, I caught more colds in that place then I caught criminals," she said, again with a dazzling smile.  

"Sounds good.  What would you guys like for dinner?  We're picking up stuff on the way back," Derek said, pocketing the envelope in the front of his jeans.

Claudia thought for a moment, smiling.  "I could really go for some of that Hot and Sour Soup at the chinese place across from the mall.  I'm getting my hunger back, and haven't been able to eat that in...  Goodness, at least six months," she said excitedly.

Derek felt his heart leap out of his chest.  Part of why Claudia had been so sick was her inability to digest food combined with crippling nausea from her treatments.  If she was feeling hungry...

"You think they've finally got the dosage right?" Derek asked.

Huffing, Claudia scoffed.  "They get it right three months before I'm done with it.  They couldn't get it right nine months ago?" she said, rolling her eyes.  "But yes..  I'm actually hungry and don't feel like vomiting all over John, so I think they've got it right," Claudia answered.

He would get Claudia the biggest serving they had to offer.  

"Alright, call if you need anything," Derek said, turning to leave.

"Derek?" Claudia asked.

Stopping at the door, Derek turned right back.  

Claudia had her head down, intently focused on her book.

"I know...  I know I haven't been involved much with the family since you came into our lives.  Part of me was just too tired to deal with my son's boyfriend, and the other half was trying to worry about my son being in another bad relationship.  Then there was a third half, however that works, that worried how you'd react when you realized how much baggage Stiles had.  I was too sick and didn't want to be involved with you at first.  I couldn't handle the heartbreak if Stiles got wounded again," Claudia admitted.  A tear fell from her eyes and splattered over the book.

Derek could hear his heart rumbling deep inside of his chest.  Claudia had, honestly, been distant to him since he started dating Stiles.  He figured it was the illness and lack of time or energy to devote to anything other than fighting cancer.  Though it did make sense, given Stiles' track record and the Stilinksi's family luck being worse than a black cat under a ladder while rolling around in the broken shards of a mirror.

"Then...  Then you just became a big part of this family.  You never hesitated to be a father for Jackson, help John around the house when Stiles wasn't available, or drive me to chemo treatments.  You did it all with a smile, never complained, and still had the love and energy to be there for my son when he had nobody else looking out for him," Claudia said, wiping away a few stray tears.  "I don't know why a complete stranger would just come into our lives and take care of us like this, but you did, and...  Now I feel guilty for not ever giving you a chance.  I’m sorry," she whispered.

"I love this family," Derek replied, leaning against the doorframe.  "I love Stiles, I love Jackson, and I love both of you.  You're like a family I never got to have, and I...  I never even thought about it, but...  I guess I just did what felt natural," he answered, shaking his head.  "And given what Matt did to Stiles, you had every right to be cautious.  Don't blame yourself Claudia, I know I'm certainly not going to.  I'll probably feel the same way whenever Jackson grows up and Lydia yanks him into marriage," Derek said jokingly, feeling bad for upsetting Claudia.

Claudia shook her head.  "Don't call me that," she answered.

Derek rose an eyebrow, confused.

"You can call me mom, son.  You can call John dad too.  Because as far as we're concerned, you really are like a child to us.  You may not be blood, and we may just be the in-laws, but I want you to know that you're kin to us.  Don't ever...  EVER feel like you don't have a family again, because you do," Claudia said firmly, as her tears stopped falling.  She shook her head again, taking a deep breath.  "Now go on...  Have fun tonight, and forget about mom's little pity party," she ordered.  Claudia was definitely using the "sheriff" voice, like she probably used on her employees.  

"Yes ma'm," Derek nodded, as he made his way out of the room and quietly down the stairs.

Jackson was still standing at the doorway, having only tied one of his two shoes.  The one that was tied?  Knot city.  

The boy was red in the face from frustration, looking up at Derek with an angry glare.

"I can do it," Jackson spat.

Derek nodded.  "I know you can," he replied, smiling as he took a seat on the chair closest to the door.  "I can wait if you'd like," he asked.

Grumbling angrily under his breath, Jackson marched over and put his foot up on Derek's knee.  "You do it..  You're faster," he admitted begrudgingly.

"Sure," Derek said, smiling as he undid the mess that Jackson had previously attempted.  While he could have done it in a split second, he took his time.  Derek tried to pretend as though he were having to slowly explain each step, as a "reminder" to himself.

He smiled as Jackson slapped himself in the face.  The poor kid always forgot the second loop, the little dork.

 

+++++++++++

 

Derek always thought of himself as a rock.  After losing his parents and living a generally loveless life, there were few things in life that Derek thought could actually hurt him.  

Losing Stiles?  That would hurt.

Losing Jackson?  That would hurt.

Losing Isaac?  That would hurt.

Losing Laura, her husband, Peter, or any of his nieces and nephews?  That would hurt.

Like Derek said, there were only a few things in life that could actually hurt him, and most of them involved around death.  So he considered himself a generally "strong" person.

So it was a surprise when seven little words left Jackson's mouth and immediately jammed Derek so hard in the chest that he had to take a moment to compose himself.

"I want to see mom and dad," Jackson had said on the drive over to the mall.  The conversation had been about Christmas presents.  The plan for Stiles' scarf, and Derek's plan on getting all the nieces and nephews a collection of books as well as a gift card for them to pick out something they actually wanted.

It had come so suddenly.  

Jackson wanted to see his parents and get them a Christmas Present.  Flowers, because that’s what he left them last time he “visited”.  

Derek kept the waterworks under control at the flower shop, getting two bouquets of red roses lined with vivid blue forget-me-nots.  

He kept the tears at bay when Jackson told the cashier it was for his mom and dad at the cemetery, a cashier who lost all color hearing those words.

By the time they'd parked the car in a spot that Jackson knew as their gravesite (another horrific realization, that the boy had it memorized), Derek couldn't hold it back anymore.  It HURT to see Jackson holding those flowers, and walking over to the two clean headstones.   

“Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy.  I got you flowers, cuz I don't think you could use a sweater like I'm getting Dad,” Jackson said, moving forward and gently laying the bouquets on each of the gravesites.

Derek felt the tears running down his face.  He bit his lip to keep the hiccups at bay.

Jackson sat cross legged on the recently trimmed grass, taking a deep breath.  "Daddy, did you know Stiles is getting married?  I bet you did, since you're in heaven, but Stiles is getting married!  He's gonna marry Derek, and Derek's gonna be my dad too.  Derek's the coach I told you about, the fun one that let us play zombie lacrosse!  I got be a zombie and chase Andy and Allison Argent with my stick!" he said, giggling at the memory.

Slowly, Derek let out a chuckle.  The amount of screaming during zombie lacrosse had actually earned them a call from the police department.  Parrish had come to make sure nobody was getting murdered, and eventually got chased by the "zombie" kids.

"Mommy, I'm still being good for Stiles, just like I promised when you went on vacation.  You can ask Derek.  I'm being good, right Dad?" Jackson asked, turning around to look for Derek's approval.

He nodded.  "Jackson has been a very good boy.  You'd be proud of him, both of you.  He's a good boy, a very...  A very strong boy," Derek said, speaking to the headstone with Kira McCall's name on it.

"See!" Jackson exclaimed loudly, with a smug sense of satisfaction.

Derek bent down to Jackson's level, sitting cross legged right next to his son.  It was an odd thing to do at a grave, at least in their culture, but whatever Jackson needed, Jackson would get.

"Did you know that Derek's big sister is coming to Christmas?  We're having a BIG Christmas party, like we had with Grandma Melissa.  'Cept it's with Derek and Stiles' family!  Oh, and I have COUSINS.  FIVE of them, and I'm the oldest!" Jackson shouted, as if it were the coolest fact ever.

Derek smiled.  At the very least, it brought him happiness to know Jackson was excited about having a bigger family.  From what Stiles had told him, the Yukimuras were never close to Kira after the "scandal".  Melissa, Scott's mother, had been supportive, but felt like a failure after she couldn't take Jackson in.  She'd avoided their offers to come by for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It was "too soon".  Derek didn't blame her, but wished she could swallow her sadness and at least come to visit for a few hours for Jackson's sake.

"Hey Dad?  Do you think I'll ever have a little brother or little sister? 'Cuz you're both daddies and only mommies can have babies.  That's what Stiles said," Jackson asked.

Derek choked on nothing but air, amazed at how much kids actually knew about the world.  Thanfkully, the topic had been discussed already, just a few days after their engagement to "hammer out" a five year plan.  Because that was the kind of man Stiles was.  

"Someday Jackson...  Maybe in a year or three after grandma and grandpa are better.  We'd adopt someone from the orphanage, or maybe foster someone," Derek explained.

"What's a foster?" Jackson asked.

Derek scratched his beard.  "It's not really a person.  If we  "foster" someone, it means we take care of them because their mom and dad can't do it.  Sometimes that means we adopt them, sometimes it doesn't.  We're not sure if we'll foster or just adopt.  That's a big decision to make," he explained.

Seemingly confused, Jackson just shrugged.

"Daddy, mommy, I might get a little brother or sister too!  See, Dad and Dad are the best!" Jackson explained.

Derek groaned.  They were seriously going to have to get Jackson to use a different fatherly noun.  But he just seemed so proud of those words neither of them had the heart to do anything about it.

Jackson's face piqued a new smile.  "OH.  You gotta see my report card!  Daddy, you will not believe it, but I've got all A's and only _**one**_ B this time.  I'll get it out of the car!" he exclaimed, scrambling off the ground and rushing to the vehicle parked not 30 feet away.

As Jackson opened up the back trunk of Derek's vehicle, looking through the mess of papers in his small backpack, Derek turned back to face the gravestones.

Though neither sets of the headstones had eyes, he could feel them boring into his soul.  The floral patterns across the top seemingly gazing into him.  Judging him.  

Derek knew that was ridiculous, but he still shook his head.

The words...  they just started coming.

“I’m not here to try and take your place, Scott.  I can’t do that, and I don’t want to do that.  I know at the end of the day, Jackson is not my biological son.  He's yours, and I know you loved him more than I could possibly comprehend," Derek whispered, out of Jackson's range of hearing.

The grass around the gravesites seemed to blow back and forth in the wind calmly.

“But I love Stiles, and I love Jackson.  In such a short time, they’ve become very important to me.  They’re my family, and I want to love them like that.  I want to be a good husband to Stiles, and a good father to Jackson.  I know it's not right, but...  I can love them in a way that you can't right now, and...  I like to think, given your big heart, that...  Maybe you'd understand," Derek explained.

The bouquet of roses lost a few petals of forget-me-nots, letting them drift into the air and catching on Kira's headstone.

“I won’t let him forget you, your wife, or your sacrifices.  We'll celebrate your birthdays, your anniversaries, and...  The day of your death.  Not in sadness, but...  Stiles and I both agreed that Jackson needed to know all about you.  So we want to make sure and celebrate your life, just like we celebrate all of ours.  Because even in death, you're still Jackson's family," Derek said, as his chest thumped louder than he imagined.

He'd had this conversation a dozen times with himself.  What he'd say to Scott and Kira when he had the courage to finally come visit them.  Really, he'd needed more time.  More time to flatten out what he wanted to say and how to say it, but...  Then again, maybe all the time in the world wouldn't do him any good.  

Derek just shook his head.  Jackson had inadvertently gotten him to find his balls and come out to the cemetery.  Oh well.  “Here I go…” he thought to himself.

“As a father?  I’ll protect him from the bullies, from his first crushes that dump him, from Stiles’ bad fashion sense, from my sister Laura, and from all the things that go bump in the night, whatever they are.  I'm sure we'll fight and argue, because that's what kids and parents do, but I'll remember that teenagers are hormonal little monsters and forgive him.  There is going to be a day when he probably says he hates me, and I'll know that he doesn't.  I'll take care of him and be understanding of him, Scott.  I guess that's what I'm trying to say here.  I’ll try and be the best father I can be," Derek said, chuckling.

The forget-me-nots flew off Kira's headstone, getting stuck in a crevice in Scott's.

“I’ll do more coaching in the future, maybe do something with the middle school kids or maybe do more than just this assistant coach job for baseball.  I'll take online classes and pad my resume in sports education.  Whatever it takes…” Derek said, chuckling.  “I know Stiles and I both have dead end jobs, but hey…  We’re happy, and money isn’t everything, but..  I can at least help us out a bit more, and still have the whole summer off with Jackson.  We can be comfortable, at least,” he explained eagerly.

The graves remained quiet as the last petal of the forget-me-nots fly off into the nearby woods.  

Derek took in a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as he groaned.  “It’s funny…  I’m talking to headstones and expecting them to give me their blessing.  As if you’re going to reach out of the dirt and give me a thumbs up.  Though if you did, I’d have to listen to Stiles ramble about his zombie obsession.  The whole World War Z book he read has been nothing but trouble.  Though I'm sure you know all about how he obsesses over-”

A painful scream cut Derek’s speech short.  

He rose up immediately, watching Jackson run for his life from the car, dropping his backpack and papers in the process.  

Derek picked up Jackson quickly, the boy still crying in terror.  He was shaking, hugging onto Derek’s neck as tightly as he could manage.  “They’re gonna eat us!  Make them go away!” he begged.

“Wait…  What’s going to eat-” Derek asked, hitching his breath as he quickly realized the problem.

Wolves.  Wild wolves.  Two of them.

Beasts that were far too close to their car than was probably safe.  Walking together, the pair was circling around, sniffing the air around them.  

...and Jackson had just done the one thing to never do to a wild wolf.  Run from them.

Stepping backwards, Derek made his way slowly to the car, attempting to keep himself from making sudden movements.  

Wolves weren’t all that common in Beacon Hills, but they did come down from the mountain from time to time.  They never tended to bother the local people, always focusing on the farms and livestock if they did come down.  How they got this deep into the city was beyond Derek, but this was probably the wildlife case that had Stiles working overtime all week on.

“Shh…  Be quiet Jackson, you’ve got to try and be quiet,” Derek said, patting the boy’s back in hopes to calm him down.  

If the wolves chose to attack, there was a very real possibility one or both of them would be bitten, possibly mislead.  Or eaten, as Jackson put it.  They were violent creatures if they were on a hunt and if they felt superior to the prey they were after.  He had to get Jackson to safety without running, or the beasts would go on a chase and hunt them down, which Jackson had already done.

Jackson, thankfully, actually did manage to calm himself down, burying himself in Derek’s shirt, hiccuping with the last bit of tears and fear.

“I’ve got you…  Jackson, just be very quiet.  I’m getting you into the car, and I want you to get inside and don’t open the door no matter what.   Do you understand?” Derek asked, trying to keep his eyes on the wolves, posturing himself aggressively.  He had to be scary, and he hoped his eyebrows were doing their general act of terror.

The wolf to the right had a pair of amber brown eyes and chocolate brown fur, a male.  To the left was one with darker brown fur that bordered on black midnight black eyes, a female.  They continued to edge closer, eyes intently focused on Derek and Jackson.  Though their faces looked neither aggressive, hungry, or predatory in any way.  Their ears were up, walking side-by-side with the slow padding of their feet.  Their teeth were out, but no growls or sounds left their throats.

He quietly let his face relax, letting a little hope glow in his heart.  Derek kept his angry glare,  stopping as he reached the passenger seat.  Slowly, he opened the door by a small margin.

“Jackson…  Get in the car and climb in the back so I can get in right after you.  Don’t get out, do you understand me?  Don’t you dare get out for anything, and if things get scary and I’m not there to help you…  Call your dad,” Derek instructed.  He was fully prepared for the bastards to jump him when Jackson got inside.  

Though, it didn’t happen.  Jackson clambered inside of the car, immediately getting into the backseat.  Derek was fast behind him, getting inside of the passenger side, slamming it shut when his body was inside.  

He checked back outside the window, and was shocked to see the wolves…

Laying down.  

Laying down just outside of the car, right next to the gravesite.  Their tongues were out, panting like happy little puppies.  

“Dad!  Drive!  They’re gonna eat us!  They’re gonna eat us!” Jackson screamed, having already buckled himself up and was proceeding to kick the back of the passenger seat with gusto.

Coming to his senses, Derek quietly shifts himself into the driver’s seat.  He bucklets himself and quickly turns on the vehicle.  “I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer,” he said, pulling his cell phone from the charger and tossing it into the backseat.  “Call your dad and tell him what happened.  The Game and Fish people will want to come retrieve them and take them back to their pack,” he said.

Jackson quickly did as he was told, scrolling through Derek’s contacts and selecting Stiles’.

Derek was already halfway out of the cemetery and by the iron gate when he could hear Stiles’ phone pick up.  At the same time, he could hear the two wolves howling in the distance in unison.

“DAD.  DAD there are wolves at Mommy and Daddy’s grave!  They were gonna eat us, but Dad saved us and he was so cool and you gotta come get the wolves!  The wolves dad, WOLVES!” Jackson screamed, who would then proceed to repeat the same string of excited words over and over again.

Derek couldn’t help but laugh as he could just picture Stiles’ face.  The confused little patient smile, waiting for Jackson to start making sense while also trying to humor the child.

“-wolves dad!  They’re wo-...  Huh?  You want to talk to Dad?  Okay,” Jackson said, holding the phone from the back seat and into Derek’s hands.

He barely had the phone up to his ear.

“Please tell me that you did not actually run across actual wolves while visiting Scott’s grave.  We’ve been looking for a pair of stray wolves for a week now, a few people reported them attacking livestock at some of the local farms.  So yeah, dangerous little buggers, and I’m really hoping that my son wasn’t just near them,” Stiles said, trying to laugh through the situation.

Derek cringed.  “Sorry, but yeah.  We’re in the car now, and are far far away.  They didn’t attack us and were relatively docile,” he answered.

“Is Jackson far away from the phone?  I don’t want him hearing my next string of words,” Stiles said.

Smirking, Derek sighed.  “He won’t hear,” he answered.

“Fuckingfuckshitfuckinggoddamnassholefuckingwolvesgettingnearmysonthegoddamnpiecesofshitareluckyparrishwontletmekillthefuckingshitpieceofasswipes,” Stiles said in a long string that would continue as Derek drove away from the cemetery.  

Derek chuckled.  “Stiles, everything is fine.  I would never let anything happen to Jackson,” he explained.

There was a quiet pause between them.  Ended by a warm laugh.  “I know Derek.  But I get to be the doting overprotective father sometimes too, okay?” he asked.

“What does that make me?” Derek said, as they stopped at a red light that led back into town.  He couldn’t believe it, but there were actually police officers racing out towards the cemetery already.  Stiles was a very organized Sheriff.

“You get to be the dad that gives Jackson “the talk”, because like hell does he need me explaining sex to him,” Stiles offered.

Derek groaned.  “He’s 8 Stiles, let’s not even remotely discuss that matter yet.  Though I agree, I wouldn’t want you talking about the birds and the bees with him either,” he replied.

“Hey!” Stiles screeched over the phone.

“I assume shopping is out with you playing wolf hunter with Game and Fish?  Should I go grab us some dinner and a movie for when you get off work?  Your mom wants chinese soup, by the way.  She looked good today,” Derek said, changing the topic immediately.

A low sigh escaped Stiles.  “Really?  That's great!  Uh, yes please.  Dad’s doing better lately, so you can get us a pizza.  Just get a supreme so I can pretend he’s eating vegetables.  A classic Christmas movie if you please, something in black and white,” he asked.

“Freddy’s?” Derek asked with a playful smirk.

He could hear Stiles growling on the other end.  “No Derek.  No, you do not get a pizza from Freddy’s.  You get pizza from Dominos like a normal person or you will get no sexing from me anytime in the coming century,” Stiles answered.

Derek sighed exasperatedly, in a joking manner.  “Fine Stiles.  Domino’s supreme and Christmas With the Kranks,” he offered.

“NONE OF THAT JOHN GRISHAM BULLSHIT.  DEREK, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU,” Stiles said, cut off as Derek switched off his phone and starting driving once more with the green light.  

Derek couldn’t help but grin.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time that Christmas finally came around, Stiles looked at a solid five days off of work with little to no stress involved.  

Mostly because his yearly vacation would be gone by January 1st and had to be taken upon threat of losing it, but also because John Stilinski was coming back to the police force the week after new years.  While not an “active” member of the police force, and would be desk bound for another six months, John would become the acting Sheriff thanks to his seniority and experience.  

Stiles was looking at a normal schedule again very soon, and would return as a deputy alongside Parrish.  A mild cut in pay, for certain, but the noticeable decrease in hours would well be worth it.

On the opposite end, Derek looked to finding a mild increase in hours after the school day ended.  Because the desire for a spring baseball “assistant” coach had been made very aware to him, as the school board (and parents) begged him to “assist” the elderly man that slept through most of the high school games, and hadn’t actually coached anything in five years.  He’d accepted and would have his 7th period english class be taken over by someone else in the english department so he could accomplish that feat.

Both men were very thrilled at their change in positions, clinking wine glasses together on Christmas Eve as they sat on the couch waiting for the rest of their guests to appear.  

“To a new year, a merry Christmas, and peaceful times,” Stiles said politely.

“And to our Summer wedding, our new family, and new beginnings,” Derek responded.

They both took long drinks, turning to the new couple sitting beside them.

Isaac Lahey and Jordan Parrish.  They’d met during Derek and Stiles’ wedding surprise party at the station and hit it off.  They’d just been on a few dates, but given they were both single with not much in the way of family, the two were more than welcome to the Stilinski Christmas.

“So…  Jordan.  Is Isaac bothering you with annoying psychological babble yet?  Or is the pillow talk still tame with just the freudian jokes about long tunnels and trians?” Derek asked quietly with a bland smirk.

“DEREK!” Isaac shouted angrily.

Parrish flushed, looking away.  

“Nah, it’d be Jordan with the babble.  He’s got a thing for dirty talk, you should hear the sex jokes this guy’s got.  Sometimes it's like I'm back in a high school locker room,” Stiles chuckled, with a sly grin.

“STILES!” Jordan screeched.

Isaac flushed, looking away.

“Payback’s a bitch.  You think you guys were subtle in your romantic meddling?  Oh you don’t EVEN know what you’re in for,” Derek said, high fiving with Stiles.

Isaac and Jordan both groaned, leaning against the couch cushions and fake-vomiting into the floor.

"Very mature  **deputy Parrish, counselor Lahey** ," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Thankfully, the doorbell interrupted the conversation, triggering a loud response from the kitchen.  

Jackson ran out of the kitchen, where he’d been baking cookies with his grandparents, and turned his head to Derek.  The child was obviously giddy to meet Derek’s family.

“Yep, they’re here,” Derek said, nodding in the direction of the doorway.  He stood up, soon having a barnacle on his butt named Jackson hiding behind him.

Stiles excused himself to go get them all drinks, while Jordan and Isaac took the opportunity to escape from Derek and Stiles’ attack range.

Derek didn’t bother checking through the peep hole, and just opened the door.  

“UNCA DEREK!” a group of girls shouted in unison.

Three girls, identical triplets Cora, Celia, and Cinder, ran inside and tackled Derek, as Cora and Cinder clambered up into his arms.  They were all perfect pictures of his big sister Laura, with warm brown eyes and flowing chocolate hair.  Celia was attached to his leg, making walking near impossible.  His nieces were barely 6, but all very active and athletic.

He was quickly attacked by Cole and Carter as well, the two boys more like the spitting image of their father Kyle.  Hair like the inside of a ripe grapefruit, they were freckled and both required high grade prescription glasses.  At the age of 5, they were adorable little scamps who tried to hang onto his arms.

Laura and Kyle walked inside with their newborn twins, one boy and one girl, both bald little babies wrapped up in yellow blankets.  They were barely a month old.

Derek shook his head at their massive family.  “I’m sorry, but are you trying to be the new John and Kate Plus Eight?  Please tell me you’re done,” he asked, pressing kisses on all his little nieces to get them off his chest.

Laura turned to stare angrily at Kyle.  “Yes, we’re done.  I watched to make sure we’re done three months in,” she said, glaring at Kyle’s crotch.

Kyle rolled his eyes.  “You know, it’s not ALL my fault, and it was downright creepy having you watch the procedure,” he said, extending a hand for Derek to shake.  “Good to see you again Derek, Merry Christmas and congratulations,” he said.

Pushing her husband aside, Laura threw her non-baby filled arm around Derek’s neck.  "Merry Christmas!"  Laura exclaimed brightly, bear-hugging Derek.  

“Mommy, is this Jacky?  Can we play tea party with him?” Cora exclaimed.

Derek turned around, watching his son in pity.  The girls had already circled him like a shark, ready and waiting to pull him into the world of makeup and tea parties.  

Jackson was glaring nervously at Derek, mouthing “help me” when the girls weren’t looking.

The ear-shattering shriek coming from Laura actually hurt Derek’s ear, and Jackson wisely covered his cheeks as practiced when his big sister handed her twin over to Kyle.

“YOU.  You must be Jackson!  Oh my God, you are just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, facebook pictures don’t do you justice!” Laura said as she picked Jackson up off the floor and hugged him tightly in her arms.  

“Hi…  Hi Aunt Laura,” Jackson said, barely able to breath out from the crushing hug.

She planted a massive kiss on Jackson’s forehead.  “Hello sweetheart!  Is my little brother nice enough to you?  Should I hurt him?” Laura asked.

Jackson immediately shook his head.  “No, dad’s really nice to me and-”

“ ** _OH MY GOD HE CALLS YOU DAD, I THINK I’M GOING TO PASS OUT RIGHT HERE AND NOW!_** ” Laura cried out, clearly beyond thrilled.

“Laura, you’re scaring the child,” a warm voice called out.

Derek chuckled, turning up to meet the elderly face of Peter Hale.  In a well tailored suit, the slender figure stepped inside with two handfuls of presents under his arms.  His hair was a warm brown, with grey speckled around the edges.

Laura stuck her tongue out at Peter, but let Jackson out of her hands.  “I’m easily excitable, so sue me!” she exclaimed.

Peter chuckled, throwing the presents into Laura’s arms before bending down to Jackson’s level.  “Well now…  So lovely to meet you Jackson.  I’m your Great Uncle Peter.  Though you can just call me Peter.  Or Uncle.  Or whatever you’d like,” he said, smiling pleasantly.

“Hi…  Uncle Peter,” Jackson said, shaking Peter’s hand.  The boy smiled excitedly.

“Hi Jackson!” Carter yelled, breaking Peter’s handshake as he and his brother Cole stood between them.  “Wanna go play lacrosse?  Dad says you play lacrosse!” he exclaimed.

Jackson grinned eagerly.  “Yeah!  Dad, can I borrow yours and Dads?” he asked.

Derek nodded.  “Sure, they’re in the garage with yours,” he answered.

“Awesome!  Sorry girls!” Jackson says, running past Peter, Laura, and Derek to get outside the front door.

Peter chuckled.  “I’ll go watch them, Carter’s a little over competitive and might bite,” he answered, immediately turning around to join the children outside in the cool sunshine.

Kyle bounced his twins in his arms.  “I’ll go feed the twins, I’m sure they’re starving,” he said, snagging the baby bag from outside the door and making his way inside the house.  He joined Isaac and Jordan, where the three quickly introduced themselves.  

The triplets wordlessly made their way inside the living area, taking up a majority of the couch and commandeering the TV remote.  Derek chuckled as he saw them stopping at one of the many ESPN channels, throwing a fit and fighting over which sport they’d watch.  

Claudia and John exited the kitchen, holding plates of cookies and cooing excitedly over seeing the triplets for the first time.  

Stiles made his way out of the kitchen as well, with several mugs of cocoa on a tray and handing them out to the triplets.  He also immediately went to Kyle’s side, shaking the man’s hand and taking one of the newborn twins in his arms, cooing over the cuteness.

Derek smiled, a warm flush burning inside his stomach and chest.  

“You’re smiling.  Oh my God, you’re actually smiling.  A real smile,” Laura said, clutching her heart tightly.

Derek turned to face his sister.  He could see she was on the verge of tears.  Slowly, Derek nodded.  

“I have a lot to smile about,” Derek admitted, glancing at Jackson and his nephews flinging a ball through the still open door.  Peter was on the front porch, attempting to give “helpful” advice for the twins who were throwing the ball back and forth, missing constantly.

Laura put her arms around Derek’s wait, pulling them into a sibling half-hug.  

“I’m glad you found your happiness,” Laura said quietly.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dinner required borrowing several foldable tables from the high school, courtesy of Isaac’s job as head of the prom committee for the juniors.  

A combination of warm smells covered the Stilinski home in the largest dinner that Derek had ever seen in his life.  Claudia’s warm baked turkey, Stiles’ homemade mashed potatoes and hashbrown casserole, Laura’s sweet potatoes, John’s fried okra, Isaac’s hot cider, as well as Jordan Parrish’s legendary fried macaroni and cheese.

The family was halfway through the meal, while everyone continued the everlasting introductions.  Except for the kids, who were already attacking the dessert in front of the television set.

“So your family actually lives in Maine?  What brought you all the way out here to California?” Laura said, staring at Jordan.

Parrish shrugged.  “My parents divorced when I was ten, and I thought I’d be living near the sand and surf with my dad.  Instead, I ended up turning into a hunter and the outdoorsy type.  Go figure,” he said, smiling.

“Where’s your father now?  Shouldn’t you be spending Christmas with him?” Laura countered.

Jordan chuckled.  “My dad moved to Florida after he retired.  He’s got his own life, and I’ve got mine.  Mom really never had a relationship with me after the divorce, so it’s just me here,” he answered.

“What about you Isaac?” Kyle asked.

Laura elbowed Kyle in the stomach, already well aware of Isaac’s situation.  

Isaac sighed.  “I’m a product of the foster system.  Went through several homes, and none of them really stuck in a real parent/child sense.  So no real family for me, sorry,” he said, raising his hands up.  “Though Derek’s basically like a brother, so I’m not all that alone,” he said with a much more eager smile.

Claudia chuckled.  “How about we talk about something more uplifting?  Derek, did you and Stiles ever pick a date yet?” she asked.

The two men groaned simultaneously.

Stiles was the first to rub his forehead.  “We’re considering summer, after baseball season.  Like early August?  If we were really romantic, we’d get married on the day we met.  Back on Jackson’s first lacrosse practice,” he answered.

“Though school’s already in session by then, and I have kids to coach.  So maybe early July?  Hard to pick, especially given there’s a lot more to think about,” Derek added.

Laura clapped her hands together.  “Ooh!  How did you two first meet?  Derek didn’t tell me diddly squat!” she said, shooting her younger brother a bitter glare.

Rolling his eyes, Derek waved Laura off.  “Well, we started things off when I was Jackson’s pee wee lacrosse coach.  Though we first met in high school.  We were in PE together in seventh period and played dodgeball on the same team,” he explained.

The sound of Stiles’ fork hitting the floor surprised the rest of the table.  Though it was Jackson’s angry glare from across the couch that was all the more telling.

Claudia and John both exchanged surprised looks

“He knew?” John asked quietly..

Derek groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“You remembered that?!  I thought…  I mean, I…  What?” Stiles stammered.

All eyes turned back to Derek.  

“Well…  Jackson I’m sorry…  I blabbed,” Derek said, shooting an apologetic glance the child’s way.

Jackson sighed.  “It’s okay dad…  You can tell dad…  But I don’t get in trouble ‘cuz it’s Christmas!” he exclaimed.

Stiles turned his glances between Jackson and Derek, waiting for an explanation.

Derek took a deep breath.  “Well, Jackson MAY have shared a secret with me a while back when we went on our first date.  A secret that I didn’t know about…  Which, I’m sorry for, by the way” he said, taking a long drink of his cider.

Jackson grumbled quietly.  “I showed Dad your yearbook.  You know, the one with Daddy’s pictures in it?  I saw Derek in the book too…  So I showed him...” he said.

Stiles went beet red.  “Oh…  Oh my God, you did NOT.  JACKSON!” he said, covering his face in abject embarrassment.  Even for a grown man, Stiles’ embarrassment was tenfold.

Laura and Peter exchanged curious glances.

“So…  I’m curious about all of this and where it’s going, please continue,” Isaac said immediately, eyes giddy.

Derek smiled quietly with a smug little gleam of teeth.  “My picture in the senior section had hearts all over it with “studmuffin” written by my name.  Then, there was a picture of us on the same dodgeball team in PE with a heart around us.  Sad to say I didn’t remember it, though…  But I think that’s when we first met,” he said, sipping his cider.

“That is so cute.  Stiles had a teenage crush on Derek,” Jordan said, turning to Stiles with a shit-eating-grin.  

“Tell anyone at the station and you’re fired,” Stiles responded immediately, laughing with a nervous hitch in his tone.  He then turned to Jackson.  “Why’d you show him that?  I mean, it's not a big deal but…  That was just our first date,” he explained.

Jackson clammed up immediately, turning away embarrassingly.

Derek smiled.  “Jackson thought it was very important that I know that Stiles had always had a crush on me and that I should marry his dad because Stiles already loved me.  He was very adamant about me knowing how Stiles felt,” he explained quietly.

The table went very quiet very quickly, with playful smiles all around.

++++++++++++++++


	6. Epilogue

Fatigue was a thing of Stiles’ past.  Weariness, gone.  Worry, gone.  

Somewhere between Claudia being clean of cancer, John taking the reigns as the new interim sheriff, and his marriage to Derek?  

Stiles could sleep again.  

With everything in his life, he didn’t have to be strong anymore.  He didn’t have to fight.  No more “superman” as John and Derek called it.  He could just be Stiles again.  For the first time in what felt like years, Stiles could relax and be happy.

He had free time.  Weekends were spent with his family.  He worked with his mom and dad again, like the big happy family that they were supposed to be.  Derek and he shared romantic nights together ( **very romantic nights)**.  He and Jackson had time to be father and son.  

Camping trips.  Long summer trips in New York with Derek’s family.  Hiking with Parrish and Lahey.  A family vacation to the grand canyon with John and Claudia.  Halloweens.  Thanksgivings.  Christmases.  New Years.  Fourth of Julys.

The days seemed to add up, and before he knew it…  

**_Well hell, 10 years had passed._ **

In the living room of his and Derek’s home, a two story stick style home just on the outskirts of town with a small vegetable garden out in the front, Stiles sat cross legged in the middle coffee table.  A chess board was in front of him, with a dirty blonde teenager sat opposite him.  

A thirteen year old with a nose ring and a rather dark black wardrobe about him that gave him a different atmosphere than the two year old boy they’d adopted nine years back.  Not that Stiles minded, his own speckles of grey in his warm brown were starting to show, giving him a wizened appearance that betrayed his generally goofy nature.

“It’s your turn Liam,” Stiles said, moving his queen a few spaces away to take Liam’s knight.

The teen sighed.  “How are you so good at this?  Nobody at school is this good!” Liam exclaimed.  He rubbed his hair frustratingly, grunting as he tried to plot out his next move.

Stiles chuckled.  “I’ve had a lot of practice with your Great Uncle Peter online.  Though it Lydia’s mother that taught me at first.  Natalie and I were both very active in the chess club, and you never wanted to play against her.  She's a conniving little witch that cheated,” he replied, watching his son focus intently on the board in front of him.  

“Of course Uncle Peter is involved.  Irritating old man, belongs in a nursing home…  Always beats me in Go,” Liam said, finally, sighing as he moved his bishop across the board, taking Stiles’ knight.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles chuckled as he plotted his own next move.  “He’d beat you if you said that to him in person.  I don’t care if he is 60, that man could end you,” he said brightly.

“He sure could,” Derek added, his voice traveling from the kitchen.  

Stiles and Liam both turned to the still well-muscled Derek Hale, busily sizzling their hamburger dinner on the stove.  A new pair of required glasses sat on his face, and the soft signs of age dotted his body. 

“Uncle Peter’s an old man Pops.  I doubt he would do anything,” Liam replied, turning back to the game as Stiles moved yet another piece on the chessboard.

“Your Uncle Peter served in the Marines.  I guarantee you he could still pull just about any of his old moves,” Stiles said, moving his bishop into position.  “Checkmate, by the way,” Stiles said smugly.

Liam threw his hands up into the air.  “Motherfucker!” he screamed.

“ _ **Language**_ ,” Stiles and Derek said simultaneously.

Huffing, Liam rolled his eyes.  “You let Jax cuss,” he said.

“Your brother is eighteen and a legal adult,” Stiles countered.  He signaled to the game board.  “Shall we go again?”

“ _ **Yes.**_  I’m going to beat you if it’s the last thing I do in my life,” Liam spat, helping Stiles as they both set the board back up.

"DAD!" Jackson screeched.  He walked into the living room from the downstairs restroom, wearing a sharp black suit and white undershirt.  Time had been good to the young man, with an athlete’s body and slim, toned figure.  There was no arguing that Jackson was very confident in his looks, the smug smile on his face speaking volumes.

Stiles looked up from their clean chessboard.  “Yeah?” he asked.

Jackson rolled his eyes.  "Not **_you_** , the _**other**_ one," he said, pushing past Stiles and moving towards Derek with two pieces of fabric in his hands.  "Which tie should I wear to prom?  Red or blue?"

Stiles scoffed.  "What?  You don't want my opinion?  I’m hurt!” he answered, sighing quietly as he stabbed an imaginary knife through his heart.

There was a dark chuckle leaving Jackson’s throat.  "Because you have the fashion sense of a 80 year old gigolo.  Orange and blue polos at the Policeman’s Fundraiser?  Really dad, you think I’m going to ask you about anything fashion related?  Yeah, **_no_** ,” he answered.

“He’s right,” Liam said, nodding as Jackson moved past him and ruffled Liam’s hair playfully.

Sighing, Stiles shook his head.  "Of all the things you picked up from Derek, it had to be his fashion snobbery.  What kind of suit did you steal from his closet hogging this time?  An Armani?  A Gucchi?  Some rich name brand that Laura and I can barely pronounce?" he asked.

“Please, it’s a Hugo Boss,” Jackson scoffed.  He moved to Derek’s side in the kitchen, showing him the two scraps of fabric.  “I would have gone with that brown floral one, but why paint the peacock?” he offered confidently, with his snide little smile.

Stiles chuckled to himself.  Never let it be said that they raised a weak-spirited child.  He bordered on cocky, but he was young.  Jackson would calm with age, Stiles was sure of it.  Hell, Scott had been somewhat of a hot head when he was younger, and look how he turned out.

Derek rolled his eyes, not nearly as fond of the cockiness.  "I've always preferred red.  What's Lydia wearing?" he asked, pouring a barbeque mix on the burgers he was frying.

"Like a weird turquoise?  She called it sea salt blue," Jackson answered.

Derek sighed.  "You were going to wear red tie to the prom while your date wore a light blue?"

"So?  I want to look good too!  It's not all about her, you know," Jackson countered.

"Here we go again," Liam said, lining up the chess pieces for his side of the board.

"I think somewhere between ninth and tenth grade, I've failed you as a father.  I don't care how competitive the two of you are in everything, there are just some things you don't do to your prom date," Derek said, putting the spatula down.  "I've got a light blue tie in my closet, come with me, we need to have a talk anyway,” Derek said, making his way out of the kitchen with Jackson close behind.  “Liam, can you watch the burgers?” he asked.

Liam nodded.  “Sure dad,” he replied, making his way quickly into the kitchen.  

Stiles finished resetting the chess board before he decided to finally snoop in on Derek's conversation, knowing it was going to be a good one.  He and Derek had both agreed on the "sex" issue for Jackson.  He was eighteen, an adult, and could decide on his own.  Lydia was eighteen as well, and Mr. and Mrs. Martin agreed that she was old enough to make her own decisions too.  But...  Even eighteen year olds were fairly stupid.  So while Mrs. Martin dealt with Lydia on the subject, Derek had to tackle the gigantic elephant in the room for Jackson.

After walking to his and Derek's room on the bottom floor, Stiles hovered by the door.

"No dad, Lydia and I are not having sex!  I mean, we get pretty involved with make outs, but...  Like..  I've only seen her in her bra and panties, and one time a really sexy thong, but never actually... _**Naked**_ ," Jackson admitted embarrassingly.  He was sitting on the edge of their bed, focusing intently on the floor.

Derek was going through his tie-rack in the closet, sighing.

"That's fine Jackson, but if and when you do, I want you to be safe.  I'm not trying to embarrass you, I'm just...  I'm just saying that if you do someday decide to have a physical relationship, that you need to use a condom.  If you are too embarassed to buy some, let me know and I'll get some for you.  Don't you ever just say "fuck it" and hope that you'll pull out in time.  That never works, and pre-ejaculate is a very real thing," Derek explained.

"We are seriously not having this conversation," Jackson said, laughing quietly to himself.  He buried his face into his hands.

Derek retrieved the light blue tie he'd been looking for, and immediately moved to Jackson's side.  He popped up his son's collar, and wrapped the tie around it.

"I know how to do it," Jackson spat.

Derek sighed.  "I know you do, just humor me," he explained, taking his time with the piece of fabric.  "I know you're an adult now Jackson, and I know that you're going to be making your own decisions very soon.  But I'm always going to be your father and worry about you.  That's why we have these awkward conversations," he explained.

Jackson glanced up at Derek, taking a deep breath.  "I know that dad, it's just...  I mean, you look pissed," he said.

Stiles couldn't help but agree.  Derek's face was narrowed, his eyes bordering on enraged.

"I'm saying this because my father made his and my mother's life difficult when they had a child too young.  He ended up being a shit parent, and I never had a father because of it.  I know you'd never be like that, you're too good of a man, but it hits too close to home with me," Derek replied.

Jackson cringed, barely moving as Derek put the last loop in the tie.  "Dad..." he mumbled, sighing.  "You don't have to worry about me.  Lydia and I both want to go to college, and we both want to find ourselves before...  You know, doing anything real long-term.  Besides, she's got to get through medical school, and I've got four years of college and police academy training.  Can't do any of that with a baby.  Well, unless you're...  You know...  My dad Scott, and my mom Kira," he answered.

The room went icy cold, and Stiles felt his heart shatter.  Time may heal all wounds, but some scars would always remain.

Derek finished Jackson's tie, putting the collar down and straightening up Jackson's jacket.  "Your dad would be so proud of you...  You've grown up into such a strong, handsome young man.  Stiles and I are proud of you too.  All As and Bs, you've got an academic scholarship, a sporting scholarship and offers to play at Berkeley...  You've got more friends than we can fit in this house, and...  Despite your overconfidence and pride, you're a genuinely good person.  I respect that, and I respect you," he said, helping Jackson up off the bed and patting him on the shoulder.

"Thanks dad," Jackson replied, groaning as Derek slipped Jackson his wallet back.  "Please tell me you didn't put a con-"

"Just in case," Derek said, waving away Jackson's negativity.  "Now I believe you've got a dinner date a Luigi's?  Then prom, and...  Whatever you're doing after prom?" he asked.

Jackson nodded.  "Yeah.  Luigi's, prom, and uh...  We don't know what we're doing after prom," he added.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  They had a  **very** strict policy about lying and trust in the household.  Though if Jackson never said anything, then he couldn't actually lie.

"You know the rules about alcohol," Derek said.

"Not until I'm 21 or dad will put me in the pen for a night and make me crap in front of everyone on the shared toliet," Jackson said, in a monotone, clearly rehearsed, speech.

Derek smiled.  "So.  No drinking, you'll be home by midnight or call if you're going to be late, and if you choose to have sex-"

"Daaaaaaaaaad," Jackson whined.

"If you choose to have sex, you will be safe?  Can you promise me those things?" Derek said, in the stern "don't mess with me on this" voice.  Liam earned that voice a lot lately.

Jackson nodded.  "I swear.  No drinking, I'll call if I'm going to be late, and will be safe on the sexy stuff," he said, holding his right hand up.

"Good," Derek said.

Stiles stepped away from the door, making his way quickly back into the living room.  Liam was still in the kitchen flipping their burgers, so Stiles chose to move to the dining room to set the table.  

As he did, Stiles stopped at the wall of pictures they'd collected over the many years.  Vacation shots, family photos, several pictures of Jackson and his lacrosse team at various tournaments, and a few shots of their friends and family.  

Stiles stopped at the picture in the dead center.  They'd long since cut out the pictures from Stlies' yearbook and had them framed.  The picture of him and Scott covered in paint from the prom committee set up was right next to the one of Scott holding his college diploma with Kira and Jackson right next to him.  

He smiled fondly, bringing his fingers up and touching the glass of the photo.  "Well...  Here's hoping I haven't screwed up too bad.  He'll be graduating and moving out here in a few months.  Your baby...  My baby...  Our baby I guess, is all grown up...  Then he'll probably come back here and keep the Stilinski police reputation going.  Hopefully he'll have more sense than I did and stay close to what matters, his family," Stiles said, taking a deep breath.

"I will," Jackson said.

Stiles jumped a little as his son came and pulled him into a hug.  

"Talking to Scott again?" Jackson asked, eyeing his father's photo carefully.

Stiles nodded.  "Yeah.  Just telling your dad how grown up you are," he answered.

Jackson hugged his father tighter.  "I'm serious though.  I know I'm going away for a while, but I'm coming back.  Lydia and I agree on that.  We...  We want to be near our family.  We want our kids, if we ever have any, to be here with you guys.  And I seriously don't think I could handle not being part of the police here.  That's been my dream since like, what, sixth grade?" he asked.

"Sure I can't talk you into something a little more safe?  An accountant maybe?" Stiles joked, knowing full and well where his son's heart was.

"Yeah, **_no_** ," Jackson answered.  He grinned.  "A long time ago, I thought that I could only really be "worth" something if I turned out to be a doctor or some bigshot lawyer or businessman.  Because...  Because of where I came from, I thought I had to prove myself and show I could be more than just...  A nobody," he said, shaking his head.  "Now...  I just wanna do what I want to do.  Which is keep the town and people that raised me safe and sound.  You know?" he asked.

Stiles sighed.  "Yes, I know.  I thought the same thing decades ago, and I still think the same thing today," he answered.

"So you gonna take up the mayor on his support and run for Sheriff when grandma retires?  You've done it once before already," Jackson said, shooting Stiles an all knowing stare.

"Haven't decided yet," Stiles countered, laughing.  "I've still got five years of Liam, and your dad and I are talking about adopting again," he answered.

"Seriously?" Jackson shot back, genuinely surprised.

Stiles nodded.  "Well, I told your father that we've basically got kids year round with him coaching and coordinating the basketball, baseball, and lacrosse high school teams AND his Advanced Placement English Literature class coming over for study sessions, AND his pee wee kids, but...  I think we're both just not ready to give up real fatherhood yet.  It's in our blood," he answered.

Jackson let go of his side hug, and quickly folded his arms.  "Yeah, it is.  You're a damn good dad," he said, trotting over to the windows in the dining room.  He looked outside, watching as dusk began to set over Beacon Hills.  "I just hope I don't screw up...  I hope I do you and dad justice.  I hope...  I hope I can make you proud.  I hope I can be successful and...  Be like you guys someday.  I don't want...  I don't want to be a failure," he said grimly.

Still staring at the photos of himself and Scott, Stiles closed his eyes.  "Your father told me something once..." he whispered.

"Yeah?" Jackson asked, not taking his eyes away from the scene before him outside.

"It was...  It was about the time I left for LA.  You'd been born for just a little over a year, and...  We were all getting ready to start our careers.  Scott and Kira were coming home, and I...  I guess I was still looking for my place in the sun," Stiles explained.  He could still picture Scott's youthful face.  "He told me...  That after I got my ass roasted in the sun when I found a spot in it, to come back home, because there were people waiting there with ice packs and aloe vera.  Because there wasn't ever a place in the sun for people, it was too hot," Stiles said.

Jackson groaned, slamming his head against the window.  "My dad was such a dork," he said, chuckling through his own tears.

Stiles definitely agreed with that sentiment.

"That stayed with me though.  And after everything that happened in my life after that...  I...  I figured out he was right.  I burned up in the sun I was trying to fit into, that I forgot that I didn't even need to go to the sun to find my place.  Because there already was a place for me.  Right where I was born," Stiles explained.

Shaking his head, Jackson turned around to meet Stiles' face.  "I stand corrected.  Both of my dads are dorks," he said, shaking his head.

"All I'm trying to say, in a really long-winded manner, is that..." Stiles said, pausing a moment.  He opened his eyes back up, and could actually see Scott's old posture again.  The slumped, cocky, yet strong way that Jackson was standing.  "You've always got a place here.  No matter what.  Come hell or high water, or any failures that get too tough, we're here for you," he finished.

Jackson turned away, glancing back outside the window.  "I know," he answered, leaning against the glass.  

"So don't worry about failing, okay?" Stiles said.

"Oh, I'll worry.  I just won't worry too hard, okay?" Jackson offered.

Stiles huffed.  "No...  See, this is the part where you agree with me about not worrying so that I feel better and actually sleep tonight without worrying about you worrying, and now I worry I-"

"Dad," Jackson said, groaning.  "Fine.  I get it.  Not worrying!  I am the anti-worry over here!  I will stab the worry out of my head with a fork, alright?" he said, pleading for Stiles to stop rambling.

Smugly, Stiles folded his arms.  "Yay!  Now come on, let me get some cute pictures of you with dad and me and Liam for the wall, and I'll be tame because Natalie Martin will have you at her house for an hour!" he said, pushing Jackson away from the window and into the living room.

While Stiles and Jackson would bicker over his "good side" and the number of photos they were actually taking, the sound of two wolves howling far off in the distance would ring in the surrounding area.

Proud, happy, gleeful howls.  Just like the ones heard that cold winter's night over a decade ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... That's the end. 
> 
> So... How'd you enjoy this little slice of life ficlet? 
> 
> What'd you like to read next? I've got a few things rolling around in the noggin'. A college AU with everyone meeting for the first time and highlighting multiple types of sexulaities. I've also thought of an AU where Derek/Scott/Peter live in a house, and are cursed to turn into wolves anytime someone touches them with kindness or love (hug/kiss) and Stiles comes into their lives to try and break the curse. 
> 
> Or... If you have any prompts/ideas, I'm always open to them! Thanks for reading and thanks for your continued support. :3
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr. http://rtsidestories.tumblr.com/


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